


Treating Angels

by mixgoldenphoenix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderqueer Character, M/M, More Characters to be Added at Later Date
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixgoldenphoenix/pseuds/mixgoldenphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with an angel falling through his roof. And then one shows up at his front door. Then another. Then a lot. Soon, Adam Milligan finds himself treating a whole host of angels. Naturally...this winds up landing him in hot water. Did you know demons were a thing? Go figure.</p><p>And now they know about him. His family. And their leader? Azazel? He doesn't like loose ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Average Adam, Not So Average Guest

Adam Milligan was just an average nineteen-year-old. He was enrolled in an average pre-med program at the University of Wisconsin. He attended average classes and came home to an average, rented "apartment" off-campus. He came from an average family, for the most part: a single mother who worked her ass off because his father was more of the love-'em-and-leave-'em-and-then-show-up-unwanted-12-years-later type.

Which is why, when he came home from school after a grueling but _amazingly_ average day, Adam expected nothing out of the ordinary awaiting him at home.

He was wrong.

He didn't know that. Not at the time. What he did know was that he had a shit-ton of chemistry homework he was not looking forward to, an online quiz in biology due at ten p.m. that night that he'd studied for but still dreaded doing, and his gas light had been on for who knows how long which meant he had roughly two miles left before his little Hyundai just said fuck it.

Unfortunately, he had already passed the last gas station on his way home when he'd noticed the annoying light and said fuck it _himself._ The car could wait until the morning. He wanted to go home. Well, to his house. The place didn't quite feel like home. Start of the semester and he hadn't unpacked most of his shit, just left it boxed in the second bedroom he was never going to use.

He'd thought about turning it into a guest bedroom for his mother for when she came to visit, but, well, she worked all the time. Still. And he couldn't really expect her to drop her responsibilities to just check out his new crib. He didn't want her to. No, it'd be better for him to go visit her whenever he got the chance. It'd be easier on both of them.

When he finally pulled into his driveway, Adam spared hardly a glance at the small, two-story, old-as-hell, dull-grey house in front of him. He was more focused on putting the vehicle in park, turning it off, reaching behind him to grab his satchel full of heavy ass books, and climbing out of his car. It wouldn't seem like these actions would require much focus, but, apparently, they did. Or Adam would have noticed something was not quite right with his house.

He did not notice that something-not-quite-right the entire time it took him to walk the short distance from the Hyundai to the front door. Probably because he was fiddling with his keys. He did not notice the something-not-quite-right after he unlocked his door, walked into his house, walked through the small living room, only to place his satchel on the kitchen table that had come with the place. He did not notice it when he opened the refrigerator door, grabbed a bottle of Sprite, and started downing the liquid like he was a man dying of thirst.

No, it wasn't until he was staring at the dirty plate sitting in the sink that was staring accusingly at him while he contemplated if he should actually wash it before the food melded with the ceramic that he _finally_ noticed something was not quite right. His hint was the thumping. The sound of thumping was coming from upstairs.

Adam's first instinct had been to freeze. His second instinct, which had happened at almost the same time as his first, had been to panic. The end result was that the young man stared like a deer in headlights at his kitchen sink while his brain provided him with a strobe light effect of images of everything that he had seen in a horror movie…ever.

Adam was a man. And, as a man, he had to be truthful with himself. He had to admit that he wanted nothing more than to run, shrieking like a young girl, from his own damn house. Unfortunately, he was a man. Which meant… He didn't really know what it meant. He was only nineteen-damn-years-old. He just got into college. How does one behave like a functioning adult other than paying the bills on time?

He took a deep breath, slowly placed his Sprite on the kitchen counter, and steeled his nerves. The thumping sounded again. Adam steeled his nerves further. Right. Okay. He psyched himself up. Other than being a burglar or a killer, what else could be upstairs in his house?

He had no fucking clue.

None of the people he knew at college had a key to his "apartment." The landlady that had given him permission to reside in the old house, for roughly the same amount of money a single apartment would have cost him on campus, _did_ have a key. However, she couldn't possibly be upstairs. The poor old woman was in the hospital from a fall. His mother didn't have a key. His brothers sure as hell didn't have keys or even knew where he'd moved to. The chances of him liking whatever he found upstairs were slim to none.

Another thump followed by the muffled sound of a dying animal. That sound, believe it or not, gave Adam some semblance of hope. Animals. Animals he could deal with. Perhaps something had snuck its way in threw the quasi-attic and crawled its way out? The house was old. Even though the landlady, Mrs. Edwards, had done a fair amount of work on it before putting it on the market, touch-ups couldn't hide the age of the wood on the inside. Wasn't strange for some type of rodent to chew threw that stuff. Or, like, a raccoon.

With a newfound sense of courage, Adam decided to investigate the noise. But, first, to arm himself. His weapon of choice? The broom. He had thought of a knife but, well, he wanted a bit of distance between him and whatever the hell was upstairs. Play it smart, not necessarily lethal. Besides, he'd played baseball when he was younger. He knew how to swing away.

Adam walked around the kitchen table, grasped his blue, plastic broom that was sitting in the corner, and exited his kitchen with a glare. His knees may be trying to knock together, but he couldn't let his enemy know that. They had to be as afraid of him as he was of them. He walked back through the living room and up the stairs, almost stumbling when he head another pitiful whine.

Whatever was in his house sounded less and less like a raccoon the further he approached the bedrooms upstairs. That was not comforting in the least. All right. Well. He'd already made it to the top step, may as well keep going anyway, right?

As his ears led him towards the "guest" bedroom, Adam's grip on his weapon tightened. He briefly wondered how sturdy a cheap ass broom from Family Dollar was. Then, he briefly wondered how he was going to open the door.

Naturally, he was going to have to use his hands. But, that raised the problem of letting go of the sturdy grip he had on the broom. Which meant that, should whatever in the bedroom decide to attack him, he would be making himself vulnerable. It looked like everything would come down to just how fast Adam could move.

 _Let go of the broom with right hand. Grab the door knob. Creak open the door slowly. Peak into the crack. Hop back as fast as possible in a fighting stance._ Hop back as fast as possible in a fighting stance. _Hop-. Come on, legs, get with the program. What are you doing?_

Turns out, Adam's legs were stuck to the floor and for good reason. What he found awaiting him in his "guest" bedroom sure as hell wasn't a raccoon. Or a burglar. Or Jason Voorhees.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. He _knew_ what he was looking at but he didn't _want_ to know what he was looking at. Because to admit to himself that there was an angel-with wings-sprawled out on his floor amidst a sea of boxes was to admit that angels were a _thing._ And that one was in his house. And it had knocked a hole in his roof, which had knocked a few support beams down, and-.

Adam stumbled not-so-graciously away from the bedroom door, that was still slowly opening because the house had settled, walked back towards the stairs, and just sort of collapsed onto the floor in shock. The broom lay, forgotten, beside him as he tried not to have an existential crisis.

An angel…was in his house. No. No, an angel could not be in his house because, for one thing, they weren't real. For another, he was just an average nineteen-year-old college student with an average life and there was absolutely nothing fucking average about messengers of God dropping through his fucking roof. No. This thing, this _angel_ , had to go. His name may be Adam, but he wasn't about to start biting any apples and ushering a second Fall of Man. Fuck that.

Just as Adam was reaching for the broom, confident that he was going to shoo this creature out of his house like he would a bird, the angel let out a pitiful cry. That sort of cry that pulls at heartstrings and makes people wonder what's wrong. And, once again, Adam's curiosity got the better of him. Despite his better judgment, he turned his head to look through the open doorway and let his eyes fall to the crumpled angel.

The longer he looked, the more he took in, the harder his heart began to beat in his chest. Because, Adam realized, the angel was injured. Heavily injured. Its white wings looked bent, broken. Blood had splattered the askew feathers. It leaked from open wounds. A small puddle had formed on the floor, from what Adam could see between a broken beam and some boxes.

Adam moved before he even knew what he was doing.

"Hey!" He shouted, stumbling in his haste to get off the floor. "Hey!"

The sound of his voice must have spooked the angel. It jerked violently, jarring its injuries and causing it to cry out again.

"No, no," Adam told it, hopping over some boxes. He wound up falling on his knees beside the…young male? "Don't do that. Ssh. Don't-don't move. You're fine. You're gonna be fine. Just don't move."

Adam was lying out of his ass and he knew it. Now that he could actually _see_ what he was dealing with, he knew he was out of his league. And not because his 'patient' was an angel. A very odd looking angel that appeared to be around his age with blond hair that was wearing a red-and-white Wiener Hut uniform. No, 'out of his league' meant the sheer amount of blood and injuries he was going to have to deal with.

The angel's wings weren't the only things covered in the precious bodily fluid. The red liquid was caked all in the young man's hair, thanks to the halo around his head. Not the gold, glowy sort of halo, but the medical device. Only, and Adam was only partly sure about this, that was definitely not how those were meant to be used. The blood appeared to be all over the front of his once pristine uniform, having oozed out of lacerations and stab wounds all over his torso. They were the reason for the mess on the floor. How long had the guy been lying here?

The angel was shivering, panting, his blue eyes unfocused. Could angels go into shock? Hell if Adam knew. But he wasn't taking any chances.

"Fuck," Adam swore under his breath. "Okay. Um. Shit. Uh. We're gonna have to. Um. Move you. Somehow. Get you on a bed or something. Hey. Hey! Can you see me?"

Adam waved his hand near the other's face. The angel responded with a jerk, but his eyes couldn't really follow the movement. That wasn't good.

Biting his bottom lip, Adam thought. Right, what did he have to do _exactly?_ He knew he had to get the angel to his bedroom so he could fix him up properly, make him comfortable. But, the issue was how to get him there. His wings were broken in several places, from what Adam could tell, and they were lain out over so many boxes-uneven planes that could catch the delicate looking appendages. Any sort of movement to those wings would cause extreme pain. Adam _knew_ that. But…he didn't have any other choice really, did he? He was just going to have to move extra slow when he pulled the angel up. If the guy would let him pull him up, anyway.

"Okay, look. I know you can hear me. I don't know if you can understand me, but I know you can hear me. So, I'm going to say this anyway. I'm going to have to pick you up, slowly, so I can lay you down somewhere else. Somewhere _flat_ so that I can…help you. Or try to, anyway." Adam sighed. "Please, just… Don't freak out on me."

With a deep breath, Adam braced himself and touched the angel on the shoulder. The angel jerked once and whimpered. Adam froze. After a long second of nothing happening, he felt it was okay to keep going. He got on his hands and knees in front of the other man, gently placed his hands under the angel's armpits, and ever so slowly started to pull him up and towards him.

And _that's_ when the angel decided to struggle.

It started with the wings. Broken though they were, the angel tried to use them anyway. For some damn reason. And, by doing so, he caused himself pain. Which made him tense up. Then, Adam, in all his infinite wisdom, tried to pull the angel up faster to get the wings off of the boxes and avoid further injury. Yet, that just made the angel panic…and struggle more…nudging one of his broken wings into a precariously angled box. Said box tipped over. Adam watched in horror, unable to do anything but wheeze, as it fell onto the wing.

The angel did the most reasonable thing given the circumstances. He screamed. Only, it wasn't a run-o'-the-mill scream. It was a piercing whine like a dog whistle. The sound nearly knocked Adam to his knees. The whole room felt like it was spinning around him. He closed his eyes, as if that would make it stop. Faintly, he heard the sound of glass shattering.

Then, the angel went limp. The sound ceased. Adam realized that, somehow, he'd kept a hold of him. Smushed him against his chest in a tight grip to keep from dropping him. Adam was the one shaking now. For a split second, he thought he'd killed the angel. But, then, he felt the other's chest move against his. The angel was still breathing. His heart was fluttering away against Adam's.

"Right," Adam said shakily.

He wasn't surprised that he could barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears. He _was_ surprised to find that he could hear anything at all. Oh, and that the two windows in the room had been shattered. Perfect. That was going to come out of his gas money.

With the angel unconscious, it'd be easier to move him, at least. Adam was still going to have to be careful with him so as not to injure him more than he already had. But, there wouldn't be as much of a struggle. Small miracles. He was going to have to move the box off the angel's wing, however.

With a put-upon sigh, Adam gently lowered the angel back to the floor. He removed the box from the broken wing, flinching when he heard shards of glass tinkling against each other. He was pretty sure that whatever was in there hadn't been broken by the fall.

Adam didn't stop there. He moved every box towards the walls. He hurried, because the angel seriously needed to be attended to, but he had to do it. He had to make sure there would be no more mishaps. That his foot wouldn't trip over something and both he and the angel would go tumbling. If he threw a few boxes a bit too hard in his haste, well… Oops.

Done with that, Adam awkwardly picked up the angel as he had before, holding him chest-to-chest with his arms wrapped around the other's middle. Not the best way to carry someone, but he was carrying someone with _wings_. Wings he had to watch out for. This sort of drag-carry hold was the only way Adam could think to do both efficiently.

He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his situation. He was dragging a half-dead angel across his upstairs hallway to his own bedroom to treat him. As if he were some sort of mythological creature doctor. Only, he wasn't even a doctor for _humans_ , yet, so...he didn't really feel like laughing. Because what good was he going to be to an angel?

Sure, he'd been raised by a nurse and had watched enough medical shows to last him a life time. On a whole, he knew more than the average person. He knew he was going to have to clean wounds with antiseptics, bandage them, grab pain reliever, and possibly try to force feed the guy some fluids. He was going to have to remove the halo from around his head. He was going to have to bandage wings.

Too bad Adam had no idea how to use a halo. Too bad he had no idea how to bandage a bird's wings. Too bad the only form of pain reliever he had in his house was Extra Strength Tylenol for when he'd get headaches from squinting too hard while studying.

Adam's lamenting of his professional skills were put on the backburner as he reached his bedroom. The only furniture in the room so far was his bed, a nightstand, a lamp, and a dresser and chest-o'-drawers that came with the house. Most of his furniture was, thankfully, out of the way. All he had to do was shuffle the angel through the doorframe, past the edge of the dresser, just a bit to the left, and…

"Fuck," he breathed.

His room wasn't small. It wasn't. It was big enough to fit a queen-sized bed, the furniture, and leave some room to spare. It didn't have a closet, but, hey! For what he was paying Mrs. Edwards to rent the place? His room was amazingly big.

It just wasn't big enough for a fifteen-ish-foot wingspan. Not without moving something around.

"Um," Adam said to himself, looking around his room.

What could he move? Well, the obvious offenders were his bed and his dresser. His bed, however, was about as far as it was going to go against the wall without squishing the nightstand. So, the only _real_ option for moveable furniture was the dresser near the door. It was heavy, but, at least Adam hadn't put much of anything in there. That was a plus.

However, to move the dresser so that he could place the angel down and spread his wings out diagonally across the floor…Adam would have to put the angel down. Without enough room. Which led to the possibility of injuring the wings _again_.

"I really didn't think this through, did I?" he asked no one in particular.

After a minute of awkwardly standing in his own bedroom, arms growing tired with the dead weight, Adam eventually decided to place the angel against his bed. In a sort of weird crouching position that had the angel's face a little too smushed into the mattress, his wings limply trailing back towards the door. Adam cringed at the sight, but it would have to do.

He carefully stepped over the feathered appendages, walked to the side of the dresser farthest from the door, grabbed under the lip, and got ready to pull.

Then someone knocked on his front door.

Adam, for a second, thought of just ignoring his visitor. He had more important things to attend to. Then he realized that who was at his front door was most likely a neighbor. After all, the angel's scream had been pretty loud and shattered windows. Someone had to have heard that. Or, maybe it was the giant hole in his roof that drew the attention? Whatever the case, it would probably be a good idea to go downstairs and tell whomever was at his door that all was well even if it wasn't.

He ran out of his room, took the stairs by twos, and stopped just shy of the door to compose himself. Plastering a big, completely false, grin on his face, Adam cracked open the door just enough to stick his head out of it. The grin almost faltered when he realized it was his neighbor to the left. Hell if he knew her name. She had that motherly look about her, though. Something you'd expect a soccer mom from a suburban area to look like. Her features were pulled down in a heavily concerned frown.

"Hi," Adam greeted in a tone of voice that clearly gave away that he wished she'd leave.

"Hello," she replied in a semi-judgmental voice. "Uh. I live next door? I heard…something. Earlier. I think it was your windows shattering. Is…everything okay in there?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Adam lied. "I was just. Uh. I kinda spilled my Sprite on this old stereo I had. And…it let out this frequency that just shattered my windows. Probably because they're so old, y'know? Just couldn't hold up to the vibrations, I guess!"

"You have a hole in your roof."

"Right. No. Yeah. The satellite guy. He came today to mount the dish on the roof. Turns out there was a bit of a decayed spot. It fell right through. I've called Mrs. Edwards about it. She knows."

"Oh. Okay." The woman trailed off uncertainly.

Then her eyes trailed down from his face to what little of his shoulder was showing through the door. Her eyes widened.

"Is that blood?" She breathed.

"What?" Adam asked.

He looked down. Sure enough, his shirt was covered in splotches of blood. Why the hell he hadn't thought to change his shirt before he came down he had no idea. Adam managed to catch the screech before it made it to his throat. Instead, he looked her straight in the eyes and went for lie number three.

"This? No! Well, it is, but it's fake. I'm a pre-med student at UW-Madison. They sometimes have little _things_ where some of the students pretend to be patients and others have to figure out what's wrong with them. I was a patient. Car wreck!"

"Uh-huh… And… You're sure everything's all right?" His neighbor asked.

Adam could tell she was completely weirded out. He didn't blame her. He was right along with her on that one.

"Yes," Adam smiled. "Everything's fine. I've got some large trash bags I can use to cover up the windows and the hole. So… Thanks for asking, though! That was very kind of you. 'ppreciate it."

"Well, take care, then. I guess. And you're welcome!"

With a stiff nod, Adam dismissed his unwanted visitor, closed the door, and took a sigh of relief. If the cops showed up in a few minutes, he'd know his bluffs had failed. But, until then, he had an angel to take care of.

It didn't take him long to get the dresser pulled to the far wall, allowing him a few extra feet to work with. He even rotated the foot of his bed so that it lie diagonally across the floor. Positioning the angel wasn't as hard as he thought it'd be, either. He'd been extremely careful in straightening out the wing bones. One had poked through the skin on the angel's left wing, but it didn't look like it would be hard to set. Painful, but not difficult.

Adam couldn't focus on that yet, though. He had to work with what he knew how to do first. Well, he knew how to sterilize and bandage. So, he left the angel lying on his bedroom floor, retrieved his first aid kit from under the sink, and came back.

His trauma shears made quick work of…Alfie's?…shirt. Weird name. Adam encountered some difficulty when it came to cutting the shirt away from the wings, but he managed somehow.

He was relieved to see that the angel didn't actually have many wounds on his back. Probably stuff that happened when he crashed through Adam's roof. Nothing like the lacerations and stab wounds on his front. Certainly nothing that needed tending to.

The angel's injuries were worrying Adam. Not just because of their severity anymore, either. Their placement, the use of a halo, and the slight bruising along the angel's- _Alfie's_ -wrists… If Adam didn't know any better, he'd swear some creepy ass torture-experimentation shit had gone down on the guy. Of course, Adam _didn't_ know any better, he didn't know anything, and so the possibility and its implications were left, plain as day, for his brain to pick and gnaw at. They were left to worry him about what could possibly do this to a messenger of God that, until half an hour or more ago, Adam didn't even believe existed.

He cleaned Alfie's wounds the best he could. Alcohol and an irrigation syringe could only get him so far. He would have stitched the deeper gashes together but he didn't have the thread or the know-how to do that. Bandaging went easily enough. Nothing some gauze pads and vet wrap couldn't take care of.

When Adam finished with that task, he moved onto the halo problem. First of all, that was a gross pun by whomever had screwed the metal device into Alfie's brain. Second of all, Adam was one-hundred percent certain that he had no idea how to remove it without injuring the angel. But, it had to come off. It wasn't like he could cart Alfie to a brain surgeon all, "Fix him." No, Adam was going to have to do this himself, despite his ignorance. Luckily, he was good at critical thinking. Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey and all that.

Adam quickly learned that removing a halo was in no way like unscrewing something from a wall. Though, in hindsight, that shoulda been a given. He also discovered that _this_ halo was nothing like a normal one. It wasn't screwed into the skull. The device itself more of hovered on and around Alfie's head. What kept it from simply being knocked off or jarred around were the three pins skewered into the angel's forehead. That was just sick. The twisted, deranged sort of sick.

He slowly pulled the pins from Alfie's head. Adam could easily say that the feeling of metal sliding out of bone was one of the grossest things he'd ever felt and, for a second, he wondered why the hell he thought being a doctor was a good idea. Removing the left and right pins went without incident, but, when he went to remove the center pin, Alfie started to wake up. That was not a good thing.

It was very difficult to both hastily _and_ carefully pull a long, thin piece of metal out of the angel's brain before he moved in such a way that would hurt him. But, amazingly, Adam pulled it off. He then reached to pull the halo off.

And Alfie's blue eyes flew open to stare at him.

And Adam nearly screamed.

The angel's right hand struck out at his left arm as Alfie yelped. Adam flinched at the contact. It'd felt like he'd been hit by a baseball bat. The quick movement must have jarred Alfie's wings because he hissed and arched off the floor a bit.

"Nope. No," Adam cautioned.

He tried pushing Alfie gently back down by his shoulders, but the angel was still weakly trying to fight him off. He was clawing at Adam and kicking, which was only serving to cause him more pain. But, Adam knew, Alfie was merely trying to fend off what he perceived was an attacker. Which…didn't mean anything good regarding how he wound up with his injuries in the first place.

Adam flailed with the angel in some sort of childish looking slap fight until, finally, he managed to get a firm grasp on Alfie's hands.

"Hey!" Adam shouted in the most commanding voice he could manage.

Alfie stilled, staring up at him with a look that was a cross between anger, fear, and pain. Adam had to hand it to the guy, even when looking like something the cat dragged in, he could pull off a glare worthy of respect.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," Adam stressed, making sure to speak clearly. "You fell through my roof."

The angel's features twitched, his glare giving way to a look of confusion. Alfie looked around Adam's room. He'd almost started hyperventilating when he'd first seen Adam. A combination of panic and pain, most likely. But, the more he took in of his surroundings, the more his breathing started to even out. That was a good sign.

"I don't know how you got there," Adam continued, "but I brought you to my room and, now, I'm trying to help you. Okay? I'm trying to remove that thing from your head. Is that all right, Alfie?"

Alfie frowned, his eyes jerkily focusing back on Adam.

"'man-'mandriel." The angel mumbled.

"What?"

Alfie shook his head like he knew he'd made no sense just then.

"Sa-saman…"

"Sa…" Adam parroted awkwardly. "Samandriel? I don't. I don't know what that means."

" _Name,_ " the angel ground out, his head lolling back over to the side.

"Oh! Oh. Your name is Samandriel. …Your shirt said, 'Alfie.'"

The response he received was an aggravated whine and a grimace. Adam was confused as to why _Samandriel_ had the wrong nametag on his shirt, but, he didn't particularly _care_ either. Probably had something to do with the oddity that was the angel's true name. Couldn't really go around Wiener Hut all, "Hi, my name is Samandriel! How my I take your order?" and not expect a few questions.

Pushing that topic to the back of his mind, Adam let go of one of Samandriel's hands and moved to take the halo off. The angel flinched a little, but he remained still, so, Adam finished his task. He tossed the contraption over towards his chest-o'-drawers.

"There," he said. "I'm going to have to fix your wings. Somehow… Then we'll be done! I think."

"Heal," Samandriel mumbled.

The angel seemed to be drifting off again as he stared into the distance near Adam's bed.

"What?"

"'ll heal… Can heal."

Adam nodded slowly, frowning in concern. "I hate to tell you this, buddy, but you're not healing. Like, if you're waiting for some holy magic stuff to just _vwoop_ and fix you? …It's not working."

Samandriel growled petulantly and, then, his hand went limp in Adam's. He was out. Again. Right. With a sigh, Adam gently placed the angel's hand on the floor beside him. He started gathering his things together and thought.

Well, he had nearly a whole roll of vet wrap left and some bed sheets shoved in a box somewhere. He could use those for making some wing slings. He'd have to research on how to do that, though. Google would probably be his best resource for that one. He didn't really have time to go running back to the campus library for better reading material.

He still had to patch up the giant hole in his "guest" bedroom ceiling and the two busted windows. That was going to be fun. At least it hadn't start raining yet. _Yet_.

He could find something to cover Samandriel up with so that the angel wouldn't get cold. If angels got cold. He could get him a pillow.

Adam was going to have to clean the blood off his stuff before it set too long and stained. 'd be a bit awkward for Mrs. Edwards to find a giant dark splotch in the carpet and floorboards later.

Oh. And he still had biology and chemistry to do. Because his average, college-student life didn't disappear simply because a messenger of God crashed into his house.

It was going to be a long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A'ight, so. This is a bit of a side project of mine for when I'm not in the mood to write my main project. As such, it will probably be shorter and not updated as often as you may like. If that bothers you, dear reader... My apologies. I do have big plans for this side project, though. ...Which may be a bit of a contradiction? *shrug*


	2. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam wakes up the next morning to remember, oh yeah, there's an angel on his floor. His day passes just like any other college-filled one until he gets home and confronts his new roommate. The two sort of feel each other out, test the waters, and Adam discovers a few things about how the divine works.

Adam was losing it. He was losing it because he wasn't losing it.

Yesterday, he'd cleaned up after an angel had crashed into his guest bedroom. He'd just scrubbed away blood like he did it for a living. Picked up insulation and wood, and then hammered and taped some trash bags onto his ceiling with a short prayer that it wouldn't leak. He'd torn down the bent blinds and old curtains that had hung behind now-shattered windows. Picked up glass and discarded it, and then vacuumed up the rest with a little hand vacuum cleaner he'd bought to clean out his car.

He'd wrangled giant wings and splinted them the best he could. He hadn't had rods or pins to stabilize the broken bones, but he'd had a lot of extra wood and a bucket load of tape. A combination of vet wrap and a ripped up sheet made a good enough sling, as far as he was concerned.

Samandriel had been left, lying on his side, to snooze away on Adam's floor. Adam'd covered him with a hideously-designed comforter and then simply walked away, shutting the door behind him.

He'd pulled his bloody shirt off, thrown it in some warm water and detergent in the bathtub, and then fixed himself a TV dinner. He had taken his biology quiz and passed. He'd watched some TV. When he turned in for the night, he'd made sure to check on Samandriel before getting into bed.

The angel turned out to be fine. Adam had been surprised to see that the wounds on his forehead had already closed up. The gash on his cheek was nearly nonexistent. He figured Samandriel hadn't been wrong, after all, when he'd said he would heal.

Sleeping with an angel in the room had been remarkably uneventful. So uneventful that Adam didn't even remember that one was in his room until he opened his eyes, saw him, and thought, "Oh, yeah. That thing."

Adam had gotten up, assured himself that Samandriel was still breathing, and started his day like it was any other day. Because it was, really. He still went to college. He still turned in his homework. He still took notes. He greeted some of his new acquaintances. The average stuff. Just because there was an angel in his bedroom did not mean that the world stopped for Adam Milligan.

Which is why, now, as Adam stared at the grumbling, wiggling form that was Samandriel, he came to the conclusion that he was a little too realistic to call himself average ever again.

The angel didn't appear to be a morning person. Or a three-thirty-in-the-afternoon person, if he were to be technical. Samandriel seemed quite content to just bury himself further in the warm comforter and doze. Adam's stare increased in intensity the longer he had to be left waiting in the doorway. After about five minutes, Adam couldn't take it any longer.

"You gonna get up?" He questioned.

Samandriel jerked awake as if he'd been caught, red-handed, doing something he wasn't supposed to. He tried to rollover onto his back, yelped when his wings told him that way was a no-go, and then he rolled onto his hands and knees. Adam cringed a little at the face Samandriel made as the comforter slipped off his messed up feathers. Soon, the angel stood facing him, his head constantly moving so he could take in all of his surroundings. Maybe he, too, had forgotten about yesterday.

"Hi," Adam began. "Name's Adam. I'm the guy whose roof you fell through and who-" he motioned at Samandriel's bandages with his hand, "-fixed you up. Just wondering: How long will you be staying? My landlady? She's under the assumption only one person is living here."

The angel's face portrayed his confusion, "Where am I?"

"You want planet, country, or street address?"

Samandriel tilted his head at him in frank annoyance.

"Windom Way," Adam supplied. "Madison, Wisconsin."

Samandriel's gaze fell to the floor, his lips pulled down into a frown.

"I don't understand. I was trying to get back to Heaven. I shouldn't have…"

"No offense, dude. But your wings are shit."

The look of indignation he received at his off-handed comment made Adam put his hands up in surrender.

"I mean," he explained, "there's no way they're taking you anywhere, let alone to the Pearly Gates. Wherever the hell those are."

Adam could tell the angel was about to wash his hands of him. Probably for his insolence or something righteous-y like that that Adam didn't really understand. But, just as easily as he'd gotten angry, Samandriel slipped right back into confused. With a side of thoughtful.

"My wings weren't injured before I tried to return to Heaven. That must've happened when I landed here. No, something must have prevented me from flying normally."

Adam pursed his lips, "The…halo around your head? Y'know, with all the pins poking into your brain? I mean, I'm no neurologist, but I'm pretty sure that would fuck up anybody's motor skills."

"Oh," Samandriel replied.

The angel brought his hands up to feel around his head. He seemed pleased, but no less confused, when he didn't find the metal contraption that had once adorned it. His frown then deepened. He patted weakly at the bandaging that covered his torso, pulling at places like a kid trying to see a cut under a Band-Aid. He looked over his shoulders to inspect his wings. Thankfully, he didn't try testing them.

Samandriel looked back at Adam, "I'd like to thank you for tending to me, but you really didn't have to. I'll-"

"Heal? Yeah. You'll have to forgive me for my haste in trying to speed up the process." Adam mumbled. "When are you leaving?"

The angel stood up straighter, "When I can fly again. Look, I don't mean to intrude, _Adam_. I don't want to inconvenience you-"

"Oh, no, you did _that_ when you broke my weekly budget."

Adam almost smiled when Samandriel's jaw clenched in frustration. He knew he was being an ass. He couldn't help it. There was just something about this dude that made him want to poke fun. Plus, it was an easy way for him to release some of his own frustration at having to face the divine.

"You're very incorrigible, do you know that?" Samandriel criticized.

"Is that any way to talk to your host?"

The angel looked stunned. "I didn't mean-"

Samandriel paused when he noticed Adam had failed to hold back his grin anymore. The indignant pout returned on the other's face. This was going to be so much fun. It was a little relieving to know that his new roommate, though a messenger of God, was actually just as human as he was.

"You're adorable," Adam teased. "Grab your shit off the floor and come on. We're fixing up the extra bedroom."

Adam turned to walk across the hall.

"Uh," he heard Samandriel question. "Why-why do we need to do that?"

"Because!" He called back. "You are not sleeping in my room anymore. Now that I know you're not going to keel over in the middle of the night, you're getting your own room. Happy Birthday!"

When Adam turned back around, he caught the amusing image of an angel trying to roll up a thick comforter, only to wind up with both of his arms stuck in the fabric. Samandriel frowned down at his trapped arms, but he then walked over to Adam, anyway.

"It's not my birthday," Samandriel stated, staring in anticipation at Adam.

He reached out to help the angel with his predicament.

"It's an expression. Humans give gifts on birthdays, usually. At least, they do in America."

"Oh," Samandriel replied, freeing himself from his comforter. "So… You're giving me this room as a gift. Why?"

Adam stared blankly at the angel, just then noticing Samandriel was shorter than him. He quickly folded the comforter the proper way and chucked it towards the floor.

"Because," he stressed. "There's this thing we like to call privacy. Not sure how keen God is on it, what with the omnipotence, but, for us lowly humans, it's kinda a big deal. We like having it. Let's us dress without unwanted eyes staring at our bodies."

It took a second, but then Samandriel's eyes widened. He nodded quickly in understanding as he cast his gaze to the floor. He looked like he'd been told the intricate details of childbirth or something. It was kind of amusing.

"I keep forgetting you humans have different mindsets when it comes to things like that," Samandriel murmured.

"You worked at Wiener Hut," Adam reminded.

He turned to start moving some boxes towards the far side of the room. His plan was to place some sort of makeshift pad near the wall closest to the door and shove everything else in the way towards the area Samandriel had fallen in at. Just…had to make sure it was far enough away from the hole so as not to be rained on if the garbage bags leaked.

"They didn't teach you how to socialize when going into the customer service industry?"

"Socializing is easy. All it is is conversing with people and making sure they feel listened to, validated, comforted. Remembering cultural customs is more difficult. Nudity isn't seen as sinful in some parts of the world as it is in others. …It's not sinful, by the way."

Adam slowly turned from his task to face the angel and asked, "Why'd you feel the need to add that last part in?"

Samandriel was silent a moment before admitting, "I don't want to sleep in a room with a hole in it. I figured if you thought nudity wasn't a sin you'd let me stay in yours."

"No," was all Adam said before pulling a stack of three, big boxes across the floor. "Also: You're not helping."

"It's not safe," Samandriel grouched. "Things can get in. And, _no_ , not 'like bugs or other angels.' I mean dangerous things. _Evil_ things."

"Did you just read my mind?"

"No," the angel said proudly as he folded his arms. "You're just predictable."

Samandriel was stalling. Adam was eighty percent positive that the guy was stalling. Finding anything and everything to complain about so that he wouldn't have to do any of the actual work. Which, adorable or not, was not a way to get on Adam's good side.

"Look. You're not staying in my room. You are staying in this room. I don't care what dangerous, evil things are out there. I know how to use a damn baseball bat. I can defend myself. You're an angel, I'm pretty sure you can defend yourself. Now, stop talking and get to work."

Samandriel's look turned challenging. Adam sighed. He had a very good idea what the angel was going to bring up, and he already knew he'd lost his argument when he realized just how he'd shoved his foot in his mouth. He let go of the boxes and silently admitted defeat. The guest bedroom would have to wait until he fixed the roof. Which meant he was back to square one. Yippee.

"Fine," Adam said. "You win. I won't make you sleep in the holey room. If you're afraid that the boogeyman is going to follow your example and bust its way in, then you are more than welcome to crash on my bedroom floor for a week. But, after that? I'm fixing this roof and you're getting your own bed."

The smile Samandriel gave him in return was entirely too cheeky. Like everything had gone according to his plan. Seemed like culturally inept angels _weren't_ socially inept, after all. Not if they knew how to pull a person's strings so efficiently. Samandriel'd probably raked in the sales at the Wiener Hut with his disarming attitude and cunning ways. The tables had turned. Adam theorized that he wouldn't be the only one enjoying their forced time together.

"I can still help you move the boxes, if you'd like," Samandriel stated.

"No," Adam shook his head, heading for the door. "No, you done blew that idea outta the water. No sense in fixing up a room if you're not going to be using it."

The angel frowned a little as Adam passed him, "Well, if you're going to make me use it _later_ , then it would make sense-"

"Not doing it," he announced. "Not wasting my time when I could be doing something else productive like homework and studying. Or cooking. Do you eat?"

Adam had turned from where he stood at the top of the stairs to face Samandriel. Samandriel had an inquisitive look on his face as he stared back into the guest bedroom. A sort of innocent curiosity Adam would expect from a stranger investigating someone's house. He waited until the other finally turned to look at him.

"No."

"You sleep but you don't eat," Adam mused, walking down the stairs.

"I sleep because I'm injured," he heard Samandriel say behind him.

"You don't eat but you worked at a fast food joint."

"That was an assignment."

"God told you to work at Wiener Hut? Why? To bless the franks?"

Adam hadn't expected to be spun around by his shoulder and glared at heatedly at the foot of his stairs. In hindsight, he should have. Insulting one's Father typically did not end well, unless that person had daddy issues. But, not everyone was him.

"You stand in the presence of an angel of the Lord and you dare insult Him?" Samandriel demanded.

Okay, well, this was a problem. Adam hadn't really been a believer in all that "God" crap. He'd been influenced by it, naturally. Growing up in an area around a bunch of Christians kinda meant he had no other option but to know that Hell was for sinners and Heaven was for saints. That God was this dude in a robe with a beard that looked and acted a bit too much like Santa. Oh, and he was named after the First Man, who took a bite out of an apple and realized he needed some clothes.

But that was about as far as Adam went on the whole religion thing. His mother had never taken him to church on Sundays, probably because she either had to work. or rest, or spend time with him. His friends' parents had never carted him off with them. He'd never gone to Vacation Bible School.

So, letting slip some off-handed comments about God wasn't that unnatural for Adam. He'd never once gotten in trouble for it. Except for now. Because there was an angel that half resembled a mummy staring so intently at him that Adam figured he would burst into flames any second now. Adam was going to have to not only learn not to do that ever again, but also apologize. Which was going to be a bit uncomfortable for him because Adam still didn't believe in God.

He held his hands up to try and show he meant no harm.

"I'm sorry. I'm not really what you'd call a devout believer. I didn't mean to offend." He paused before adding, "And I'm not going to make any promises that I won't stick my foot in my mouth again. So, if I do, please, just…don't smite me."

Samandriel stared at him for a long minute before he removed his hand from Adam's shoulder. His jaw was still tense, however, so Adam knew to tread lightly. He valued his head.

"You're handling your situation very well for someone who doesn't believe in the Divine."

Adam shrugged, "I'm a seeing-is-believing sort of guy."

Legs a little shaky and heart rate a tad above normal, he pushed himself away from the wall and walked through the living room towards the kitchen. He'd kinda lost his appetite a little, but he hadn't eaten anything decent for hours.

"Anyway, why were you assigned to work at Wiener Hut, if you don't mind my asking? I mean, I thought angels helped people out. Or something."

Samandriel followed him, replying, "I was helping someone. A worker who needed a little inspiration to go towards her true destiny."

"Which is?"

"Classified, considering that it pertains to future events."

Adam looked over at the angel, his hand stopping as it reached the freezer door. Samandriel looked serious enough, but that damned cheeky smile of his was trying to peek through. Adam rolled his eyes and went back to his task. He pulled another TV dinner from the fridge-tonight's was chicken fingers with a brownie-and read the instructions on the back.

"So…what? Angels just make sure we follow our path? And here I was thinking I had a choice."

"Humans do have a choice. Even with freedom, there are right and wrong decisions. Angels, in special cases, can be used to influence a person towards the right one. For example, as an Angel of Imagination, I can only inspire a person to follow their dreams. It's up to them to decide if they want to go through with them or not."

Adam set the oven to preheat.

"So, what you're saying is that: If that girl doesn't follow her dreams, she's made the wrong choice? That she's somehow royally fucked up the planet by not, I don't know, becoming a scientist and finding a cure for some strange disease?"

Samandriel was frowning when Adam turned to face him. Adam propped his elbows up on the stove.

"Not necessarily wrong, no. I think my wording was off. Let's use your example. Wouldn't it benefit the entire world if she _did_ become a scientist that found a cure to save millions?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"If all that's stopping her from saving all those people was the mindset that she would be forced to fix hot dogs for the rest of her life, would it _really_ hurt to nudge her to follow her dreams?"

Adam was silent before, finally, replying, "I didn't really think I'd be having a philosophical debate with an angel in my kitchen when I woke up this morning."

"I didn't really think I'd be waking up period, let alone to find I'd been treated by a human," Samandriel simpered.

"Right," Adam murmured before he put the TV dinner in the waiting oven.

Twenty-five minutes later, Adam was sitting in his living room, watching a re-run of _MythBusters_ , and picking at his macaroni and cheese. Samandriel, because of his wings, couldn't really sit down on the couch. Not that he probably would have. The angel seemed to be keeping his distance. Adam wasn't entirely sure why, but he didn't feel like prying.

Instead, Adam had pulled the kitchen chair into the living room and ordered Samandriel to sit. He didn't like having people, let alone angels, standing awkwardly around him. Samandriel had complied. He'd flinched a little when he sat, but he showed no other signs of pain. Though, he was sitting funnily. He had to lean forward so his wings wouldn't smush into the ground. He didn't seem to mind, though. Like that was a perfectly reasonable way to sit.

No, he seemed much more interested in inspecting Adam's house. He did it discretely, but Adam could see his eyes darting around. Taking in the curtains, the dinky old furniture, and the expanse of space towards the right of the house that Adam never used. It was really all part of the living room, but that was entirely too much room for Adam to live in. If Samandriel's curiosity got too strong for him and he followed his nose, he would find the downstairs bathroom. Adam never used that, either.

Samandriel eventually turned his attention back towards Adam, not even sparing a glance at the television. He took one look at the TV dinner Adam was eating and scrunched his nose up in distaste. Adam speared some macaroni on his fork and pointed it at the angel.

"Don't furl your nose at my food," he teased, taking a bite.

The angel kept frowning, "I will never understand why humans put such artificial food in their bodies."

"Mac-n-cheese isn't artificial," he replied with a mouthful.

"In theory, no. But the cheese sauce in that plate? It's disgusting."

Adam swallowed, "You don't even eat. Why are you complaining?"

"Because I know how detrimental to a human's health such foods are."

"You worked at a fast food restaurant!"

"For an assignment! Besides, you plan on becoming a doctor one day. How do you expect to heal the sick when you poison your own body with junk food?"

Adam's fork paused in its journey from a piece of brownie to his mouth. He slowly and steadily lowered the fork back to the dinner. He looked pointedly at Samandriel.

"How did you know that was what I wanted to become?" He demanded.

Samandriel's eyes widened. He turned his gaze towards the carpet for a moment as he fidgeted with his hands. His bottom lip was doing that quivering thing it'd done earlier when Adam had called him out for speaking rudely towards him. He faced Adam again.

"You dressed my wounds," he said evenly. "You did a very good job of it. I can make assumptions that you want to go into the medical field because you're good at it."

Adam's jaw clenched. That was complete bullshit and both of them knew it.

"You read my mind. You've been reading my mind, haven't you? It's not good enough to be able to see the future for you angels, you gotta go prying where you don't belong, too?"

Samandriel looked admonished.

"That's not." He looked away, frustrated, and explained, "I don't know who you are. You think you have it bad? I've was taken away from my charge, which means I didn't finish my assignment the correct way, which means I _failed_ , and then-. And then I said some things I shouldn't have, and I fell into a human's house. With my wings exposed. Which humans aren't allowed to see without special permission and for a special cause, of which neither of us had."

Samandriel's gaze hardened.

"I have broken so many rules already and I am not willing to risk breaking more. I needed to know if I could trust you. So, yes, I scanned your mind. Briefly. To figure out if you were a threat. I didn't _read_ it. I just checked to make sure you weren't… That you weren't what I don't want coming after me."

Adam tore his gaze away from those eyes. They were boring into him again. He briefly wondered if that's when Samandriel read his mind. When he stared like that. But that wasn't what was bothering him anymore. No, what bothered him was that he was still being an inconsiderate dickbag when he wasn't trying to be. Yeah, sure, he liked teasing the guy. But he didn't like _actually_ hurting his feelings or being completely boneheaded about the other's predicament.

"You could have just asked me," he mumbled.

"People lie."

Adam couldn't help but smirk as he looked back at Samandriel.

"So did you."

Samandriel sighed and looked back at the floor.

"This is getting us nowhere."

Adam shrugged, "I don't know. I seem to have made progress. At least, when it comes to learning about what angels are capable of and what they do for a living. Still haven't found out what the hell roughed you up, though. Care to enlighten me?"

"That's… I can't say. I'm not allowed."

"Mmhmm," Adam hummed. He finally took that bite of brownie and then continued, "So, you can tell me what your assignment was and how angels' jobs work, but you can't tell me what could very well pop up in my own house to kill me?"

When Adam looked over at the angel, Samandriel's eyes had hardened. He was determined about something.

"They won't get in," he said dangerously. It spooked Adam a little. "There are ways to keep them out, and they _won't_ get in. All I need is some salt and something to draw with. Blood's the best, but anything that won't fade or easily rub off will do."

To say he was a little disturbed at the angel's words was an understatement. The way Samandriel talked made it sound like the divine was just as creepy and dark as the occult. Yeah, Adam was starting to get a little worried about his well-being. What the hell could be driven away by _salt_ and _blood_ for Chrissakes? He'd have to Google that later.

"Uh. Well, I don't have much salt. I didn't really think I'd need much. Microwavable meals being more my style an' all."

"Only the places of entry need to be warded. The hole in the roof's going to be the biggest challenge. I'm thinking of just cutting it off from the rest of the house with a line of salt."

"I am in way over my head, aren't I?"

Samandriel smiled a little and looked at him, "Maybe. But you're handling me pretty well. I'm sure you can handle anything that comes your way. Be that the supernatural or that homework you mentioned."

"Right. Homework. Yay."

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Adam finished his dinner, remembered he still hadn't washed that dish in the sink when he saw it as he threw away his meal tray, and then he set about doing his English homework. Reading pages about how to write essays was only so fun. Especially when such things had been hounded into his head all throughout his middle school and high school careers. But, hey, college. Gotta cover the basics for the older folks returning after twenty-some-odd years of working dead-end jobs.

He tried to get Samandriel to help him. Angels had to know about languages, right? But the angel had only haughtily told him that he was an Angel of Imagination, not one of Cheating. Adam couldn't convey his point that simply, like, downloading the information straight into his brain wasn't technically cheating. Samandriel wouldn't have it. Instead, he set about nosing around the kitchen cabinets.

Which were mostly bare. Adam hadn't brought much from home and he hadn't needed to buy many plates from Wally World, either. After all, he was just one man. So, what Samandriel found interesting about them, he had no idea. The angel was probably searching for the salt. Which was under the kitchen sink, not along the top, but Adam wasn't going to tell Samandriel that. Because he was a bit of an asshole that took some sort of impish glee at watching a messenger of God not being able to find a common household item.

Samandriel did find it, eventually. He went about strategically placing the stuff behind doorframes and on windowsills. Points of entry, Adam remembered. If only that worked on other creepy things like criminals. Adam, however, simply went back to watching TV and let the angel have his fun. Or do his duty. Whatever he was doing. So long as he didn't ramble through Adam's underwear drawer, he didn't really give a damn.

When he remembered to Google what the hell he was trying to keep out of his house, it was already eight-o'-clock at night. Samandriel had turned in an hour earlier, saying something about how he needed a lot of sleep to heal faster. Adam'd asked him about the wounds on his torso, the angel had assured him that everything was fine, and that had been the end of that conversation.

Adam's search brought him a random jumble of results that branched from medical stuff to the actual occult-ish type things he was looking for. The first place he went to, naturally, was the article about iron in folklore on Wikipedia. Because it was Wikipedia: A College Student's Best Friend.

All he managed to glean from it was that blood-or iron-was thought to "repel ghosts, fairies, witches, and other malevolent supernatural creatures." Well, he highly doubted ghosts could fuck up an angel, he couldn't imagine Tinkerbell doing it, and witches could be promising if they weren't the modern versions. As for other malevolent supernatural creatures? Well, that could fucking be anything, now couldn't it? What good was that for a descriptor?

Further investigation led him to an article about Romans and their use of salt-among other things-to purify bodies and, perhaps, places of, again, evil spirits. He came across an article about salt in magic. He came across a lot of the same stuff, really. All saying that salt was for purifying but _what_ it purified was always under the blanketed term of "evil things." Evil and dead things. Which…really didn't help Adam out at all. Though, he was thinking of investing in an iron baseball bat drenched in salt to replace his Louisville Slugger hiding away under his bed.

At ten, Adam finally shut down his laptop and called it a night. He had morning classes again. They fell on every Tuesday and Thursday and they were the bane of his existence.

The last thing Adam needed was to be half-asleep in biology. A class that was actually _useful_ for his pre-med path.

He wasn't surprised that there was a line of salt in front of the guest bedroom. He wasn't surprised that there was a line of salt in front of _his_ bedroom. He wasn't surprised to find Samandriel lying on his stomach on the floor.

He was a little surprised to see the angel had ripped off all of his covers to use as a bunched up mattress and was snuggled down into the ugly comforter they'd left in the guest bedroom. Fortunately for Samandriel, Adam was far too interested in sleeping to rip the covers out from under him.

He, instead, pulled a heavy blanket out from the bottom drawer in his chest-o'-drawers and dealt with that. In the morning, or whenever Samandriel woke up with him in the house, he'd politely inform the angel that the bed was off-limits and that, to steal his host's bedding, was a tad rude. For now? He was going to sleep with a silent, but not religious, prayer that he wouldn't be eaten during the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll best be glad I'm on a roll. Or a steamroller. Just popping out chapters like I have good sense.


	3. Awkward and Uncomforable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam wakes up to discover Samandriel took measures to ensure their safety. Bloody measures. He also has to deal with creepy janitors and one of his brothers. How he manages to not lose his mind remains a mystery.

The next morning, Adam awoke to the alarm tone on his cell. With an annoyed groan, he slapped his hand onto the infernal device that rested beside his pillow and pushed as many side buttons as he could. Anything to make the shrill trilling stop. Rooting his face into his mattress, he thought about simply not moving. Fuck college, fuck showers, fuck angels, fuck everybody. Sleep was more important. But, just like every other day, he forced himself to move and do what had to be done. Because that's what responsible adults did, which Adam was now.

The first order of business was to open his eyes. The second was to look at Samandriel. The third was to feel slight panic when he didn't spot the angel nesting in _his_ bed sheets on the floor. The fourth was to calm down slightly because Samandriel couldn't have gone too far. The fifth was to panic again when he remembered the angel saying something about blood warding.

"No!" Adam exclaimed as he flung the blanket off him.

He hopped out of bed the fastest he had since he'd last believed in Santa Claus and rushed out of his room, mindful of the salt line by his door. The hallway was clean of the occult, but that wasn't the area that worried him the most.

Adam flung open the guest bedroom and, sure enough, he was greeted with the sight of creepy ass symbols painted near the busted windows and ceiling. He beat his head against the door weakly a few times, before he turned and stormed down the stairs. Samandriel was found in the kitchen, this time snooping in the refrigerator.

"Why?" Adam questioned. "Why did you do it?"

Samandriel turned his contemplative stare from the fridge to Adam.

"Do what?" He asked innocently.

"Blood. Blood all over my walls. Why did you do that? No, I know about the evil spirits and shit. But you could have just as easily used iron, right? Why blood? Why?"

Samandriel frowned, "Iron doesn't work against all malevolent creatures. Those blood sigils will protect the room against anything."

"Not against my deposit being kept it won't."

The deepening frown on Samandriel's face only proved to Adam that what they had here was a culturally inept slip-up once again. Which reminded him: He was also going to have a talk about the stealing of the bed sheets. But, that could wait. One thing at a time.

"This house doesn't belong to me, Samandriel. I am renting it from a nice old lady named Mrs. Edwards. I pay her every month to stay in this house. When I moved in, I paid her a deposit. A chunk of money that she holds onto until I leave her house. If I mess up the house and she has to repair it, she will take the money out of the deposit. Mrs. Edwards is not going to like having satanic-"

"It's not satanic."

"-magical shit all over her walls. Makes it a bit hard to sell to other renters. Which means…I just lost three-fifty."

"You could paint over it, couldn't you?"

"I'd have to get permission from Mrs. Edwards first and she'd ask why I wanted to paint _her_ house. Then, I _may_ just have to explain that an angel of the Lord thought it was a good idea to ruin the walls!"

"I'm sorry, Adam," Samandriel said, looking like the very definition of the word. "I'm only trying to help. You really do need those sigils for protection. I can probably remove them later when they're not needed."

Adam placed his head in his hands, digging at his eyes with the heels of his palm, and whined shrilly. It did kind of quell his rage that Samandriel might be able to clean up the very mess he'd made, but he was still frustrated because the angel had done it without permission. He'd just taken it upon himself to ruin the room. Granted, it had been to protect them, but still: Boundaries.

"I'm going to take a shower," Adam began, dropping his hands to pointedly look at Samandriel, who was still standing with the fridge door open. "I'm going to take a shower, get ready for school, go to school, and while I'm doing all o' that, _you,_ my fine, feathered friend, are going to put my bedding back where it goes. Then, you are going to occupy yourself in a way that does not fuck up my house. You can watch TV. You can learn to cook. You can clean. You can sleep. I don't care. Just, for the love of everything, _don't_ do anything you think will cause me trouble. Are we clear?"

"I'm not a child," Samandriel pouted.

"Are we clear?"

" _Fine_ ," Samandriel growled.

Adam did what he said he was going to do. He went upstairs and showered, discovered he needed to do some laundry, got dressed, grabbed his shit, left Samandriel watching the Discovery Channel, and went to campus.

His day was spent worrying about what Samandriel was getting up to. He was mostly sure that the angel wouldn't do anything he wasn't supposed to. Like, pretty sure. Samandriel was very logical and he followed orders pretty well. Probably because he was an angel and they, well, took orders from God. Or something.

But, because he was very logical…he tended to do things very logically. Such as what he'd done that morning. He'd been focused on protection, and he'd done the most logical thing to do for protection. Sadly, he hadn't figured out that what was the most logical course of action wasn't necessarily the best for humans.

For instance, if someone were mopping around him and making him uncomfortable, the most logical thing for Adam to do would be to tell that person to stop. However, because of human social intricacies and such, what Adam _did_ do was keep his mouth shut and angrily eat at his French fries while he wished the annoying ass janitor would go away.

The annoying ass janitor didn't go away, however. In fact, he just kept on a-whistlin' and a-moppin'. Adam's fuse grew ever shorter. When the janitor tried to clean under his chair while he was still sitting in it? _That_ was when he finally lost it.

"Dude!" He complained loudly, throwing his hands up like, "What the hell?"

The janitor looked stunned by his outburst. Yet, it wasn't genuine surprise, Adam could tell. It was that faux look of shock people get when they're mocking someone. The man went right back to mopping.

"He's alive!" The janitor joked. "And here I thought you were dead to the world."

"Uh, can you stop?" Adam asked angrily. "Like, I'm sure this is your job and all, but there's a time and place for everything."

"Right you are, kiddo!" The man chirped.

He shoved the mop back into its bucket, and, much to Adam's dismay and frustration, pulled the chair out beside Adam, and sat in it. Adam glared at the guy. He looked to be in his late thirties with golden brown hair and equally golden eyes. Golden eyes that were just little bit too close for comfort. Again: Late thirties. This man should know the meaning of "personal space."

"What the hell, man?" Adam demanded, leaning away a little.

The other slapped his hand once on Adam's book bag, "I've been meaning to ask you something. You're a young whipper-snapper, right? Sprightly youth doing that college thing? Y'see, I've been meaning to quit this janitorial career for a while. Doesn't really pay to clean up after a bunch of ingrates that think that, just because someone will sweep up their mess, they're entitled to mess things up."

"Dude-"

"I've had my sights set on fast food for awhile. At least, then, people will appreciate me working my ass off for them, right? So, what I wanted to ask is: Do you know anybody that works in fast food that I could get tips from? Y'know, see what I need to put on my resume and such?"

Adam, begrudgingly, kept eye contact with this stranger. Not because he particularly cared what the other had to say but because he felt that, if he looked away, he would be submitting to the janitor. So, he stared long and hard at the man, trying to convey with body language how much he wanted him gone from his presence and his life.

The message was not received.

"No," Adam answered slowly. "I don't know anyone who works in fast food."

"Really?" The janitor asked. "No one at all?"

" _No._ Now, would you kindly get the hell away from me?"

"Man," the guy whined, finally looking away. "And here I thought you would be the one to know a guy. Tsk."

"Uh. Adam?"

Adam looked away from the janitor to see Brittany. She attended his biology class. They'd struck up a lukewarm friendship that was mostly one-sided, all interaction coming from her. Her eyes were glancing between him and the janitor with concern and faint suspicion. Adam wasn't entirely sure why she was suspicious, but okay.

"Why are you eating with a janitor?" She questioned.

The man beside him frowned at her, "Because, unlike you, little lady, Adam here does not snuff his nose up at people who work their asses off and get no recognition for doing so."

Brittany's jaw dropped at the accusation, which almost had Adam snort a laugh, but before she could find a rebuttal, the janitor had hopped out of the chair he was in, grabbed his mop and bucket, and sauntered off like he didn't have a care in the world. Brittany glared daggers into the man's back until he was out of sight. She took the seat opposite of Adam, placing her full plate in front of her.

"What the hell was that all about?" She demanded.

Adam shrugged helplessly, "How the fuck should I know? He bothered the shit out of me, sat down, asked if I knew anyone that worked in fast food, and then you showed up."

"He's a creeper, innit?"

Once again, Adam shrugged helplessly. He didn't know what the deal with the janitor was. He was willing to let the whole encounter go. Chalk it up as one more strange occurrence that happened in his lifetime. Everyone was prone to having them. But, as he was chewing a fry, he remembered the major strange occurrence currently on-going in his life. The angel who, at one time, had worked at Wiener Hut.

Adam choked mid-swallow, then forced the fry lodged sideways in his throat down with some Sprite. Brittany stared at him in faint concern. He waved at her with his hand, his mind whirling a thousand miles a minute.

No way the janitor could have been referring to Samandriel. There was no way. No one knew the angel was staying with him. That he'd fallen through his roof. That Adam was hiding him away from things that go bump in the night. Right? Like, what were the odds? Slim to none. Because Samandriel had put up wards to keep out bad guys and stuff. Yes, that was it. The creepy man's questioning was just one of those ironic moments the universe was known for.

If Adam drug the salt shaker closer to him, well, that was his own damn business.

When he returned home that evening, Adam's first line of business was questioning Samandriel about the wards. Just what he'd done, _exactly_. He knew the angel wouldn't tell him what he was protecting them against, but he could at least figure out _how_ they were being protected. Maybe. Hopefully. Because that would be really nice to know.

Adam tossed his book bag onto the couch. Samandriel was found in the kitchen, again. Adam briefly wondered if he shouldn't put up some sort of child safety pen up to keep the angel out of there. He favorited it way too much. Adam was suspicious. But then, Adam noticed, firstly, that the dirty laundry was piled at Samandriel's feet as he read the tag of a shirt and, secondly, that the bandaging around his torso was gone.

"Uh." Adam said dumbly. He decided to handle the situation in the order he'd seen it. "What are you doing?"

"Washing clothes," Samandriel replied. As if that were a completely normal thing for an angel to do.

"Yeah, I have eyes. I was wondering _why_?"

"They were dirty. You told me to clean. I'm cleaning. Plus, I was bored. This takes my mind off things."

Adam nodded. He had said that. So, technically, he couldn't fault Samandriel for deciding to do the laundry he had thought about doing earlier. But, that did bring to mind another question. Adam narrowed his eyes.

"Did you read my mind again?" He asked skeptically.

"No, Adam," Samandriel, apparently pleased with whatever he'd read on the tag, dropped the shirt into the washer and then looked at him. "I haven't violated your mental privacy since yesterday. I don't plan to do it again, either. If you were thinking about laundering your clothes, then all I can say is that I beat you to it."

Adam's eyes narrowed further, "Did you touch my underwear?"

Samandriel snorted on that one. He shook his head, picked up another shirt from the pile, and began reading its tag. Adam noticed the way the angel's muscles moved on his bare chest. There was no stiffness in them. There wasn't a mark anywhere on the other's body, either, which was surprising and wasn't. From a medical standpoint, that was beyond impressive. From a supernatural one? Kinda to be expected.

"I thought about it," Samandriel mused. "But then I thought about the ridiculous rant you'd make at the perceived violation of your privacy, so I left them on the floor in your room."

Adam pouted a little. It wouldn't have been a _ridiculous_ rant at _perceived_ violation of privacy. It would have been a _valid_ rant at _actual_ violation of privacy. But, for Samandriel, underwear was probably a dumb concept. As in: Why should it be something private when its just clothing? Not: Wearing underwear is stupid.

That was a thought Adam hadn't needed his brain supplying him with. He stared at the washer for a moment to recalibrate his mind and get it out of the gutter. When that was finished, he looked back at Samandriel.

"At least you're learning, I guess. Anyway, you've taken off your bandages."

"Yes," Samandriel smiled. "I've healed, so I didn't feel the need to keep them on anymore. Plus, they were a bit tight. For good reasons, I know, but still…" the corner of his lip pulled down in a frown, "annoying."

"Well," Adam drawled, "since you're healed…maybe you can take the writing off my walls?"

Samandriel's frown deepened as he dropped the second shirt into the washer. Okay, so that was a no.

"Fix the windows and roof?"

The angel sighed. He grabbed a third shirt, making certain not to look over in Adam's direction. Great. Adam'd probably offended the guy. Again. He opened his mouth to change the topic, but Samandriel spoke first.

"My flesh may be healed but my Grace hasn't. That's why my wings are still mending. I can't do anything that will tax my Grace because that risks weakening me again. Which would cause me to be stuck here longer. Neither of us wants that."

Adam sighed, rubbing at his face, "Look. I know I keep bringing it up. I'm not trying to run you into an early grave. Really, I'm not. But… The longer that room stays fucked up, the easier it is for something to find you. I know you said those wards and the salt would keep the bad spirits, or whatever, out, but will they keep them from simply finding you? I don't know how this shit works."

Samandriel paused in his tag inspection to look pensively at the wall. He tilted his head slightly to the side as his gaze unfocused. Adam stood there awkwardly, in the doorway to his kitchen, wondering just what the angel was doing. Soon, Samandriel's eyes refocused. He dropped the shirt into the washer and then looked over at Adam.

"I can't sense anything in the area, so I don't think you have to worry about being found. However, the sigils that I used _do_ work more at preventing entry than masking the house from detection. If I'd done that, it would have made things suspicious."

"But," Adam protested, "what if something does show up and notices the giant hole in the roof? And the windows busted out? Won't that set off red flags?"

Samandriel smirked, which surprised Adam, and replied, "I thought you were capable of taking care of yourself? That you knew how to use a baseball bat?"

Adam's mouth worked as he tried to think of a comeback at the angel's sass. He failed in that endeavor. Samandriel was still staring at him, cheeky smile in place, proud at himself for having thrown Adam's own words back at him. Haha, stupid human. Adam huffed through his nose.

"You're not funny," he stated as he pointed at him.

* * *

Saturday brought with it free time. Which was, really, a double-edged sword for Adam. On the one hand, yay, no school. On the other: Samandriel. He'd thought it had taken adjusting coming home and seeing a dude with wings fooling around with stuff around the house. It was even stranger being stuck with him for an entire day. From sun up to sun down and then some. What the hell was there to do with an angel?

Talking was a thing. Obviously. They talked. Discussed the décor and how impressed Samandriel was with the tidiness and order, sans the dirty laundry, of course. Adam's snipping about the guest bedroom did not deter Samandriel's opinion at all. Probably because the angel had just as much shut it away from his mind as he'd quarantined it from the rest of the house.

They discussed Adam's eating habits. Samandriel wanted to bring _actual_ food into the place. He'd cook, if Adam didn't mind. He'd picked up on how to do that from inspiring some humans into being chefs and such. Plus, he knew how to read and follow instructions. So, any type of recipe was fair game. Adam was against it, of course. He knew how to cook, thanks. He didn't need an angel being his house servant.

Oh, but it's the least he could do. No, don't start that. But if only Adam would improve his diet. Fine, he'll go out and grab better grub next grocery run, but Samandriel was not cooking ever.

They debated the television shows Adam liked to watch. The intricacies of storytelling and acting. Why certain characters would do this but not that. Why anyone would be interested in that genre. When it got to Samandriel talking over the TV to ask Adam for back story, Adam politely informed him that he was about to rip his tongue out if he did not shut up and _watch_ the show. Of course, Samandriel didn't take that to be polite at all and didn't speak to him for well over an hour. Folded arms and pouty lips and everything.

They talked briefly, very briefly, about what Heaven was like. It was like Heaven. The Gates of Heaven weren't pearly, but that had always been a favorite theory of Samandriel's. Very pretty.

Angels didn't always look like humans with wings. In fact, certain branches of the hierarchy were extremely massive and couldn't go anywhere near humans without roasting them on accident. Oh, but those beast-like angels were some of the nicest. Kind of like whales. Fire-y whales of accidental murder. When asked about how the souls avoided getting toasted, Samandriel merely replied, "Oh, there are angels that make sure the souls stay where they should. Think of it like that shepherd-flock metaphor your Bible is very fond of." Then he smiled and Adam wondered if Heaven was as stress free as people tried to make others believe. He put his money on no.

When Adam tried to ask about who dished out orders and such to the angels, Samandriel locked up. He didn't know what he'd expected, really. They'd already touched on what was allowed and what wasn't regarding angel-human relations. Adam guessed that he was just going to have to drop that subject for good.

Needless to say, that was the end of the lesson on Heaven.

Just before dinner, as Adam's mind raced and Samandriel busied himself with Adam's English textbook, a thought occurred to him. It was completely unrelated to any of the thoughts that came before it, but it came all the same.

He was going to have to fix the guest bedroom himself.

Why he hadn't thought of that fact sooner, he didn't know, but it was glaring at him now like a neon sign. No way in hell would he be able to call someone to fix his damn house. One look at the sigils and Adam would be falsely accused of getting up to heinous crimes. He'd be shunned by society for the rest of his life. Becoming a doctor would be extremely hard when people'd think he'd just use his patients as sacrifices.

No, Adam Milligan was going to have to do the chore himself. Which was going to be difficult considering he'd never worked construction before in his life. He could Google how to fix a roof, maybe. Watch some YouTube videos, or something.

Or he could call Dean.

Immediately after his brain suggested such a thing, he wanted to murder it. Pound the grey matter into mush.

First of all, Dean was a mechanic, not a carpenter. He shouldn't be the first person on Adam's get-help-from list. Second of all, Adam didn't like Dean. The feeling was mutual.

They were half-brothers, sure. They'd spent some time together at awkward reunions, sure. But they were not family. Not in Adam's eyes; not in Dean's eyes.

Their standoff had originated with Dean. He was the eldest of John's sons and was old enough to remember Mary. Adam hadn't know about Mary. Hell, he hadn't known about any of the Winchesters before his twelfth birthday. It was Sam, always-trying-to-be-friends Sam, that had informed him, innocently, of what had happened to his and Dean's mother. How she'd died in a fire when Dean was just four.

Then Sam'd gone on to explain what happened to John. The sort of spiraling depression and the traveling. How he hadn't been able to stand still for too long without starting to feel trapped. How, because of this, he'd dragged Sam and Dean all over the country as he did odd jobs. How, eventually, he'd come to stop at Sioux Falls working for some man named Bobby Singer.

Bobby was like an uncle to them, Sam'd happily explained. Meanwhile, the entire time he'd been talking, Dean had glared at Adam any chance he'd gotten.

Adam knew why. He wasn't an idiot. Because the one little tidbit of info Sam had left out was that John Winchester had spent the night with one Kate Milligan in January of 1990. In Dean's little mind, such actions were an affront to his mother's memory. Adam was unwanted and Dean was damn well sure he was going to convey that message.

Adam had refused to be walked over. He had glared back just as intensely. And the discontent with one another only persisted through the years. Even after John's death.

Now, Adam had Dean's phone number. He knew that Dean was working for Bobby. He even knew what the man's favorite food was. But that was all because of Sam. Stubborn Sam trying to keep a family together that was never a family to begin with. Adam just didn't have the heart to break it to him.

Never in a million years would Adam call Dean. Or so he'd thought. Until Samandriel's grand entrance. Which kind of left him with no choice, really. If he called someone else, someone who got paid to fix things, they'd probably tell him, "We can do that if you'd pay us," and, when Adam would reveal that he had to do it himself, they'd say, "Welp, good luck with that. You're not getting our trade secrets." Click. Because people have to make a living.

It took Adam roughly thirty minutes to work up enough courage to actually open his phone, scroll down to Dean's number, and click 'Send.' As the line rang, Adam mentally scolded himself for his decision. Samandriel, of course, was none the wiser about his inner struggles. It took three rings for Dean to answer his phone. One ring before Adam planned to hang up.

"Hello," Dean's deep voice said. "What do ya need?"

Adam scoffed, "What makes you think I need something?"

"Because you wouldn't call me if you didn't have a reason," Dean stated easily. "And chatting wouldn't be one of your reasons."

Adam glared down at his coffee table. _Of course_ Dean was right. That fact burned through Adam like acid. He didn't like giving the man a 'point.' Oh well.

"Do you know how to fix a roof and some windows?" Adam asked.

"Well, yeah," Dean replied. It sounded like he shifted his phone. "I spent a summer touching up some old places once. Why do you need to know that?"

"An angel fell through my roof," he deadpanned.

The look Samandriel gave him as he looked up from Adam's textbook was beyond priceless. Adam tried to keep his grin at bay but the corner of his lips betrayed him with a twitch. The angel squinted at him, pursing his lips as if he wanted to say something but couldn't, not with Adam on the phone.

There was a long pause from Dean before he questioned, "Are you stoned?"

"Now what kind of upstanding college student would I be if I was so high I was hallucinating, hmm, Dean?" Adam joked. "No. I'm not stoned. I don't know what caused the damage to my house, but it needs to be fixed before my landlady comes out of the hospital, has a coronary at the sight, and then winds up back in the hospital."

Samandriel seemed to relax a little at Adam's lie, but he was still giving him the stink-eye. Adorable. He turned back to the textbook just as Dean spoke.

"Uh-huh. Right, well. Do you have the supplies you need?"

"No."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Fix stuff without any supplies. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you know what supplies to get."

"Not really, no."

"You-" Dean sighed loudly. "Why don't you just call someone? _Other_ than the guy hundreds of miles away?"

"Because I kinda don't wanna lose my deposit. If I called someone else, I'd have to tell my landlady, and it all goes downhill from there. So, why don't you be a good big brother and tell your littlest brother how to save his ass _and_ his wallet?"

Amazingly, albeit with much complaining, Dean did just that. He talked about shingles and tar paper and ice dam barriers and vents and flashing-whatever the hell that was-until, eventually, he was through talking and Adam was more confused than he had ever been. Accepting the existence of angels was easier for his brain to comprehend than what the hell Dean'd just told him. Fuck carpentry and roofing, being a doctor was the way to go.

"You got all that?" Dean asked, the tone of voice signaling that he believed Adam did not.

"Yeah," Adam replied. "Yeah. That's. Yep. I'll get on that next week. Thanks, Dean."

"No problem, Adam. Send me a picture when you're done. I'm interested to see how your first lesson in construction turns out."

"Sure," Adam drawled. "Bye, Dean."

He hung up before his brother could get another word in. Adam glanced over at Samandriel. The angel was looking up through his lashes at him, interested in what Adam was going to say but not so interested as to raise his face from the book in his lap. Adam flipped his phone shut and announced:

"You're going to have to get better real soon because there is no way in hell I can fix that room myself."

Samandriel only smirked and went back to reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have come sooner if I hadn't sidetracked myself into drawing a baby seraph and then watching GTA Let's Plays from Achievement Hunter. My bad. Next chapter things pick up a bit. You may want to look at that seat belt beside your shoulder.


	4. Angels and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feathers are everywhere, Adam learns of what's after Samandriel, and a sister appears.

One week. One week after his conversation with Dean was the amount of time it took for things to start turning weird. Well, weirder. It started around the four-day mark, really. Adam started noticing little feathers here and there. Understandable, he'd thought. Guy with wings hangin' around and all. Feathers were bound to be shed, right? Cats shed. Dogs shed. Maybe angels shed, too. He wasn't going to mention it.

Until Samandriel started being pouty. More-so than usual. Then bigger feathers could be found littering his floor. Especially in the little nest that Samandriel had made for himself in front of Adam's chest-o'-drawers.

And there were no other words to describe it. It _was_ a nest. People, normally, just laid out a thick blanket on the floor as a mattress and then used some thinner sheets to cover themselves with. Samandriel? No. He made this sort of circular shape of chaos with rolled up sheets around the edges.

He also slept mostly spread-eagle on his stomach, which was highly amusing to Adam. Especially in the early mornings when Adam wasn't quite awake enough to know it was a bit creepy to constantly stare at the sleeping angel, wondering if Samandriel was going to drool or not. Alas, he had yet to drool. Or snore. He wasn't giving Adam much material to work with in the teasing department.

Except for the feathers, of course. Adam _wasn't_ going to bring it up. He really wasn't. He could tell that this premature balding condition _thing_ was upsetting Samandriel on some level. So, he was just going to keep his mouth shut. However, when Adam found a primary feather about the size of his arm he decided the time for silence had come to an end. Because that was _slightly_ worrying.

Though, when he approached Samandriel, he noticed the look of consternation on the angel's face. Said look was directed at the floor, as if it had personally offended him. He also couldn't stand still for some reason. A joke about constipation cropped up in the back of Adam's mind but he decided against saying it. It probably wouldn't have been well received.

"Um," Adam tread carefully. "Samandriel?"

The angel's eyes darted up to meet his and then went right back to the floor. Adam assumed the other knew what he was going to bring up and that may be why Samandriel looked extremely embarrassed. Poor guy. Dealing with this condition at such a young age.

"There, uh. 's something-something going on? That I need to know about? Maybe?"

Samandriel huffed out of his nose and pulled his arms tighter around his chest. Now he just looked scolded and slightly pissed off. Damn. Perhaps Adam shouldn't have said anything.

"I mean it's fine. If you don't want to talk about it. It's just… They're increasing in number. And size. And I'm kind of worried of accidentally spearing my foot on one of 'em."

"They're itching," Samandriel hissed.

Adam was genuinely surprised at the other's tone of voice. He sounded livid. How dare his feathers betray him like that! Or something. Adam hadn't a clue. He did, however, kinda want to sit down on the couch. He felt Samandriel was about to go into rant mode and that could take a while. Adam's gaze flicked to the empty space where that primary feather had once resided on Samandriel's left wing. Yes, it could take a long while.

"Uh-huh," Adam prompted, sidling around Samandriel and the coffee table to the couch.

"I can't scratch them. I can't do anything with them. They're still sore from having been broken." Samandriel complained, his voice getting slightly higher, "And it's frustrating!"

Adam blinked slowly. He honestly had no idea what he was supposed to do in this situation. Was he supposed to offer moral support? Was he supposed to offer to scratch the guy's back? Was he supposed to apologize for his roof breaking Samandriel's fall or for accidentally dropping a box of shit on his wing? He just didn't know! So, he stared at Samandriel, waiting for the angel to give him some context clues.

Samandriel turned his head towards him, his eyes almost frantic. When Adam shrugged helplessly with his shoulders and hands, the angel whined and started to pace. Adam watched him carve a path between the TV and coffee table. He also seemed to be doing a fine job of carving his nails into the bends of his arms.

"Look," Adam tried to explain, "I want to help you, I do. But, you gotta enlighten me here, man. I don't have wings. I've never owned a bird. I don't know what the correct course of action is here."

"You bandaged my wings easily enough," Samandriel snapped.

Adam nodded, "The Internet. It's an amazing thing."

"Well, then… Just 'Google' what's happening to me. Since it was _so_ helpful last time."

"Samandriel. In the time it would take me to pull my laptop out of its bag, turn it on, wait for it to boot completely, bring up the web browser-."

"Yeah, okay, I get it."

"Is this some, like, puberty thing? Is that why you don't want to talk about it? Are your big boy feathers coming in?"

"Yenno."

Yeah, _that_ was a convincing dismissal. Adam had been teasing, of course. He hadn't really thought angels went through that sort of thing. Apparently, they did. He briefly wondered if the flaming whale ones also shed old feathers for new ones. Just like, 'Look out below!' as this giant piece of fire rained down on the unsuspecting souls beneath it.

"Wow," Adam said. "That's, um, awkward."

"No," Samandriel waved a hand. "It's not like puberty. Not like sexual maturation puberty. Angels don't even…"

Samandriel finally stopped pacing and fully faced Adam. His back was hunched over, his shoulders tense, his fingers still digging into his arms. Adam frowned. The wings must really, really itch if they were causing Samandriel that much discomfort.

"I don't know if I'm allowed to say this or not," Samandriel began. "Considering it's kind of giving away how angels work and stuff. But, frankly, I'm beyond caring at this point. So, y'know, who cares, right?"

Adam merely nodded. Yes, Samandriel was definitely itching to the point that it was unbearable. Because he wouldn't divulge Heaven's secrets unless his mind wasn't already completely occupied with something else. Also, he was beginning to use more humanistic lingo. Surely he'd picked up some, what with staying with Adam for so long, but he'd yet to _use_ it. Adam guessed it was because angels tended to go for a certain public image and using contractions like 'y'know' was just out of the question.

Samandriel took a deep breath and continued, "We're created with wings. Obviously. And we all have certain patterns on said wings. Mine are-were-white. Others have different colors. Sometimes, in an angel's life, things will happen to said angel and it will cause a change."

" _The_ change?"

"Stop that."

"Sorry."

"As you well know, I recently went through some stuff. And that affected my Grace. Grace powers an angel, including the wings."

"Ooh," Adam interrupted. "So, the Grace changed and it's now changing your feather pattern, or whatever?"

"Close enough," Samandriel confirmed before resuming his walk.

"I don't understand how there's anything wrong with that? Or embarrassing? Unless you guys consider it to be a private affair. I can not look at you for however long it takes for the feathers to come out…and in… If that's what you want?"

Samandriel dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. That was another expression he'd picked up from Adam. Adam was kind of strangely excited that the angel was starting to mimic him. He felt like he was making an impression on someone. Plus, it was fun thinking about this dude up in Heaven acting like him and confusing the other angels with the changes. A devious sort of fun.

"It's not private _or_ embarrassing," Samandriel growled. He dropped his arms. "Okay, it is a little embarrassing. I'm probably going to look like a newborn bird at some point. But that's not the problem. The problem is: one, _the itching_ and two, every angel is going to know something went wrong because of my wings."

Oh. Right. The evil spirit things that were probably chasing Samandriel down after they'd fucked him up big time. Adam was happy having forgotten about those. One whole week of not remembering they were a thing. So much for peace of mind.

"Why is it a problem if they know something happened to you?" Adam questioned gently.

Some of the crankiness melted from the angel's face, only to be replaced with worry and regret. Not really a good switch, in Adam's opinion. The last thing he wanted to do was to emotionally upset Samandriel. But, he had a feeling the topic he was bringing up really should be addressed. Addressed until Samandriel stopped beating himself up over it. If that was even possible.

"It's because of your assignment, isn't it?"

"No," Samandriel muttered, refusing to look up from the floor. "Not completely. Angels aren't supposed to fail, that's true. And I'll no doubt face repercussions for that, but… They're going to want to know what caused my Grace to react enough to influence my physical form. I'll have to tell them. That's what I'm afraid of."

The atmosphere in the room had suddenly gotten heavy. Adam wanted to help Samandriel. He knew how the angel was feeling. Not for the same reasons, of course, but… Well, he was familiar with the emotions. And they sucked. However, Adam didn't know if there was anything he _could_ do to help the poor guy out.

"Can't you just," Adam tried, "blame it on my house? I'm assuming your injuries are what's caused this change, so…"

Samandriel tried to smile, "Your ceiling broke my wings, but it didn't cause me to fall. Or to not report in. Or to say some things I shouldn't have to some people I shouldn't have."

"You can't omit that?"

"No. My superior will know I'm lying, even if it's through omission."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence descended. Awkward because Samandriel probably thought he was being judged _by Adam_ for something Adam didn't even know he'd done, when the truth of the matter was Samandriel was judging himself. Awkward because Adam didn't think he had enough grounds to tell the angel that.

Really, Adam wasn't sure Samandriel wasn't being too hard on himself. Who knew how Heaven worked? Samandriel did. Maybe there was a legitimate reason for the angel to think he'd be treated harshly for whatever he had to say. Which Adam found bullshit but he couldn't really shake his fist in God's face.

Samandriel started fidgeting again. He was trying to roll his shoulders, which didn't accomplish much. His wings were twitching. Adam sighed. This was going to make the awkward worse, but at least it'd make one thing better.

"Samandriel, if it's bothering you so much, I _can_ scratch your back…wings…for you."

Adam almost laughed because Samandriel turned and looked at him with big, doe eyes so full of hope and relief that it was hilarious. But, to do that would be mean so, instead, he pushed himself from the couch and fetched a chair from the dining table. He placed it in Samandriel's usual spot, just shy of the entrance to the kitchen, and gestured for the angel to sit.

Samandriel seemed hesitant. His eyes bounced from Adam to the chair and back multiple times as he rocked from side to side. Adam waited patiently until, sure enough, Samandriel gave in and scampered towards him. He had to jump back to avoid being taken out by the angel's right wing as Samandriel plopped down hurriedly into the seat.

He didn't berate the angel for that, though. No, he let it slide and turned his attention towards Samandriel's back. It wasn't until he was looking directly at the source of the problem that Adam paused.

He had no idea what he was allowed to do. He knew Samandriel needed to be scratched, that Samandriel was willing to allow Adam to scratch him, he just had no idea what bits were safe to touch. The wings were healing fine. Far as he could tell, all of the breaks had been repaired. However, they were still bandaged and Samandriel had mentioned they were still sore. Adam didn't want to touch a particularly painful part and risk upsetting the other more than he already was.

"I don't-" He began, hand hovering over Samandriel's curved back where the wings connected with flesh.

" _Just scratch_ ," Samandriel hissed.

"Alright."

Adam placed his nails against the pale skin in front of him and did just that. Samandriel's immediate response was to slump forward completely and groan in relief. Again, amusing, but Adam refused to laugh.

"There any particular place it itches?" He asked.

"Everywhere," Samandriel groaned towards his feet.

Right. Everywhere. That was very helpful advice. Adam decided that 'everywhere' simply meant 'any place with flesh.' Feathers, to his knowledge, were like hair. They didn't feel anything. Where they connected to skin? That was a different matter.

Adam began with the right wing. Moving his fingers gently under the smaller feathers that rested over the muscle underneath. He tried not to press too hard with his nails, but he also had to be firm enough to move the feathers out of the way.

Samandriel didn't seem to find anything wrong with Adam's ministrations. He'd let his body relax completely. The wing would twitch every now and again, but he didn't cry out or even grunt, so Adam assumed he hadn't hit a sore spot. He wondered, briefly, if he was going to have to do the same for the front. However, his thoughts were quickly interrupted a few minutes later by a hum.

Adam hadn't noticed it, at first. His fingers had, in retrospect, but he'd been so focused on manipulating feathers that he missed the vibrations. Only when it reached his ears did he realize something was up. He didn't say anything, just furrowed his brow and kept scratching. For a solid minute. Until the sound was echoing through the whole room and he could feel it in his chest. _That_ was when Adam decided that what was happening was weird. Not awkward, but weird.

He slowly leaned to the side to look at Samandriel's face. The angel had his eyes closed, a small smile on his face. He looked completely at peace. Blissful, even. Like a cat. Adam couldn't _not_ say something at that.

"Are you purring?" He teased.

The small smile quickly disappeared from Samandriel's face, a scowl taking its place. The angel didn't even bother to open his eyes as he swiftly slid his leg around to kick Adam in the lower part of his right shin. Adam yelped, yanking his leg away while also trying not to flail into a wing.

"Alright!" Adam snapped. "Touchy subject! Don't bring up the purring. Got it."

Samandriel peeked at him, his lips forming an angry pout, before he settled back into place. Adam briefly contemplated not resuming his scratching duties. That hurt!

"It's not a touchy subject," Samandriel replied airily. "And it's not a purr. I was resonating. Which all angels do when they feel good. Content. At ease. What's 'touchy' is when you try making fun of me for something that comes natural to me."

Okay, yeah, he had a point there. Maybe. It wasn't like Samandriel had made fun of him for eating, or pooping, or any other trivial human thing angels didn't do that humans did. Perhaps he judged Adam's eating _habits_ but he certainly didn't poke fun at him for them. Adam huffed and grumpily placed his hand back on Samandriel's wing.

"Why haven't you resonated before, then?" He questioned. "If you were content. Unless you haven't been happy. What, am I doing something wrong? Do you not like it here?"

Samandriel had the nerve to laugh at him, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were offended."

"Well, yeah!" Adam exclaimed in his defense. "Who wants their guest feeling like shit? What kind of host would that make me?"

The angel was grinning, "I believe the word you used to describe me the first time we met was 'adorable.' Which is what you are being now. Relax, Adam, I've felt very content while staying here."

"Then why-?"

"Because wings, as I've mentioned before, are connected to my Grace. My true form. So…"

"Your…true form was what was resonating?" Adam tried guessing, moving his hand further along Samandriel's wing. "So, it's a more…biologically content thing? Similar to how cats work but totally not purring?"

"Close enough."

"Why is everything 'close enough' with you?"

"Because your human mind will never be able to comprehend the exact answer."

"Now you're making fun of _me_ for something that is inherent in _my_ species and something that I cannot help. I see how it is."

"Hmm."

This was becoming a regular occurring thing with Samandriel. Another one of Adam's traits that had rubbed off on him. Or perhaps it was simply a human one. The whole revenge trait. Take a perceived slight and flip it back around on the perpetrator until it's agreed said slight will never happen again. Ever. Just to avoid the aggravation and-or humiliation. Samandriel learned well.

Purring eventually resumed as Adam continued his work. He was going slow, being methodical. It took him roughly half-an-hour to finish their session. He had a feeling he may have to do another one. At least, until Samandriel's feathers had finished falling out and growing in. He just hoped the itching stayed away for a day or two. Adam was a little tired, restless, and there was a pile of feathers at his feet.

When the first had fallen out into his hand he'd nearly had a heart attack. At his sharp intake of breath, however, Samandriel had informed him that was normal. The angel was actually relieved he'd removed it. Told him to keep that up whenever he came across loose ones. Only loose ones, though. Otherwise, he'd pluck a healthy feather and that would cause pain. Like yanking out a clump of his own hair.

Samandriel thanked him for the grooming. He made a point to stress that Adam should consider himself blessed to have been able to touch an angel's wings, let alone groom them. Adam just nodded at him, knowing that Samandriel was trying desperately to mask his own embarrassment. Hey, extreme itching, man. It'll get someone to drop their guard every time.

Adam picked up the feathers, despite Samandriel's protests that he could do that. That he should do that, more like. It wasn't fair to the host to have to clean up after the guest. He should at least help Adam out.

Adam told him to shut it. It was his floor. He was the one that volunteered to groom in the first place. He could pick up the feathers. He had a young, healthy back. It wasn't going to kill him.

Yes, but.

No.

Samandriel was twitchy after that. His eyes would glance at Adam, only to look away quickly if he spotted Adam looking at him. At first, Adam didn't understand what was up. Samandriel had assured him the whole wing thing wasn't anything but innocent. So, that couldn't be the problem. It wasn't until Adam left the room to go fetch his books that he discovered the issue.

The angel was trying to repay him. Even though Adam had told him everything was fine. So, to do so, Samandriel had to be sneaky. His version of sneaky was to wait until Adam's back was turned to tidy up the kitchen. Not that there had been much to tidy up, but Adam distinctly remembered leaving a few plates in the sink and a cup or two. They were, now, in the dish drainer. He hadn't even heard the water running.

Adam didn't mention it. That seemed to be a running theme. Just don't mention it.

He, instead, reclaimed his seat on the couch and began his biology homework. Reading twenty some-odd pages. Yipee. He noticed Samandriel slowly inching his way towards the stairs out of his peripheral vision. Probably to go make his bed or something. Adam ignored him, flipping through his heavy textbook in search for the chapter he was supposed to be reading.

To his surprise, a piece of paper flittered out from somewhere near the back of the book. His class was nowhere near that section. Must be something a previous student had left behind. He'd bought all his books used, after all.

Eager to see what was on the folded slip of paper-whether they were important notes he could bum off later or not-Adam paused his searching to open the paper. What he saw made his hair stand on end. Written in red ink and taking up every bit of clear space on the page were sigils. All of them strange and some looking extremely too familiar for his peace of mind. Eyes glancing to the top margin, Adam choked at the title.

_Demon Protection Sigils._

Adam momentarily forgot how to breathe. He didn't know how these sigils got in this book. The odds of them being written down by some occult fanatic and left behind in a book he was going to purchase later. If destiny was even a thing or not. All he knew was that at least half of these symbols were splattered in angel's blood on his walls upstairs. At least, he was pretty sure. He hadn't seen them in a week, but his memory wasn't _that_ foggy. No, they had to be the same sigils. Which meant that Samandriel was protecting them from demons.

 _Demons_. As in nasty buggers with pitchforks that liked torturing souls in Hell. _Demons_. As in the antithesis to angels and their sworn enemies. _Demons_. As in the things that had to have been the cause of Samandriel's injuries when he crashed into Adam's house. The things Samandriel had given information to because of torture. The things that were probably chasing him, still, and would probably not think twice of fucking Adam's shit up, too.

Those demons.

Paper clasped tightly in his fist, Adam threw his biology book off his lap, onto the couch, and bolted up the stairs. He was going to check the sigils. He was going to confirm it, now, and then he was going to freak out more. Then, he was most likely going to confront Samandriel. Because itchy wings were one thing. Cleaning dishes was one thing. He could easily not mention those things. Keeping the existence of demons and their intent towards the angel was completely different. That sounded like some deep shit. Adam didn't want to be in deep shit.

Samandriel squawked in surprise, hopping back from the top landing of the staircase as Adam flew past him on his way towards the guest bedroom. The angel called out to him, but Adam wasn't stopping. He flung the door open, ready to get to work. Only…much to his surprise and faint dismay, the sigils were gone. The hole was gone. The windows were fixed. Adam's mind ground to a halt.

"I…" Samandriel said from somewhere behind him. "I was. Well, you needed it fixed. And I said I would when I was healed. And, I mean. I'm not _healed_ healed, but I had enough Grace to fix the mess I made. And you groomed my wings. So."

Adam spun around and waved the crumpled notebook paper in his hand under Samandriel's nose.

"What is this?" He demanded.

Samandriel looked cross-eyed and confused at the page. "Paper?"

"Haha, you're a riot. What's _on_ the paper, genius!"

Samandriel frowned at him, not at all approving of his sarcastic tone, but he gently removed the page from Adam's grasp and smoothed it open. After he did, his face grew uncharacteristically pale for an angel. Adam felt amazingly smug.

"Yeah, see!" He snapped. "Didn't think I'd find out, did ya? That there are _demons_. And that they are _chasing you_. Why didn't you tell me? And don't give me that 'I can't divulge info' bullshit again!"

Samandriel surprised Adam by ignoring him in favor of glaring at the piece of paper in his hands. As if it were the problem here and not the secrecy the angel swore by. Adam had half a mind to snatch the page away from Samandriel just to gain his attention again.

"That trickster," Samandriel hissed.

"What?" Adam asked, confused as to what that had to do with demons.

"Look at him. He's even so cheeky as to sign the paper with his sigil!"

"Him who? What?" Adam flailed his arms. "Demons! You! Secrecy! Answers! _Now!_ "

The angel finally looked up from the paper to stare blankly at him.

"Yes, demons. Okay? Are you happy, Adam? Now that you know there is an embodiment of evil out there. One that is capable of tearing an angel down to their very core? One that will hunt an angel down like a pack of ravenous dogs? Are you happy knowing that?"

"No!"

"Then why do you want to know?"

Adam's mouth worked as he tried to come up with an answer. One that would make Samandriel understand what the issue was. The thing that was irking Adam the most.

"Samandriel," Adam began. "Ignorance is not bliss. It's a saying you've probably heard in your travels around on Earth, gifting people with whatever inspiration they need. But it's a shitty saying. Happiness that comes from ignorance is a lie. Yes, it upsets me to know demons exist and everything that comes with it. Yes, it upsets me to know they're after you and, by extension, probably even me. But I'd rather know that so I knew how to protect myself and you from them.

"Do you have any idea what could have happened if they'd shown up and I didn't know what we were dealing with? What if I was prepared for a ghost, or-or something, and it was a fucking demon instead? Hell, I don't even know how to get rid of a ghost, really. But a demon? That's even stronger! Right? I mean, I'm assuming. They fucked you up pretty good.

"You're not _protecting me_ by keeping me in the dark about the very thing that could make me its enemy. You're hindering me."

Thankfully, Samandriel seemed to understand what he was saying. The angel looked uncomfortable. Remorseful even. Which wasn't something Adam had been aiming for, but at least he'd gotten his point across. Samandriel held the paper back out to Adam, which he took gingerly. Trying to show the angel he wasn't angry at _him,_ per se. Just his choice.

"I'm sorry," Samandriel replied quietly. "But that's the least of your worries, now."

Adam frowned, "What does that mean?"

Before Samandriel could speak, a knock sounded from his front door. Great. Visitors. Just what he needed. Unwanted company while he was having a much needed conversation with his roommate. Speaking of roommate. Adam eyed the wings behind Samandriel's back. He pointed at them.

"Hide," he commanded.

Samandriel nodded and slunk back to his room. Adam walked down his stairs, shoving the crumpled paper into his back pocket. Gripping the knob of the door handle, his mind briefly wandered to his neighbor on the left. That kind, motherly woman that had asked him if everything was alright weeks ago. Adam hoped she wasn't stopping by to ask him why the hole in his roof and his windows were suddenly fixed with no sound of banging and no sign of repairmen entering or leaving his premises. Because he really didn't think he could come up with a convincing enough lie.

The woman who was standing on the other side of his door when he pulled it open, however, was not his neighbor. She looked nothing at all like his neighbor. For one, his neighbor was white. This woman was not. Brown skin, long dark hair, bit of an oval face. For another, she did not appear the motherly type. That may be because of the furious scowl she was directing at him.

Adam thought about opening his mouth to introduce himself and ask why this lady was so pissed and why she was standing on his doorstep. Before he could open his mouth, however, the woman used one hand to push him out of the way and barged into his house.

Adam was no lawyer. That was Sam's department. But, he was pretty sure that what had just happened was forced entry. That was illegal and, most definitely, not wanted. Adam would not stand for it.

"Um," Adam said forcefully, glaring at the intruder as she glanced quickly around his house. "What the hell are you doing?"

The woman spun to face him, glare intensifying, and, much to Adam's surprise, let loose two huge wings from her back. He watched the feathered appendages rise over her head in what had to be an aggressive display. They were colored differently than Samandriel's. Orange, light browns, and reds streaked through them like a canyon wall. Very impressive. Very pretty. Unfortunately, Adam wasn't intimidated in the least.

"Where is Samandriel!" She demanded, small fists clenched by her sides. "I know you are keeping him here!"

"No," Adam explained.

He wasn't keeping Samandriel. Samandriel chose to stay until his wings healed well enough for him to flit on back to Heaven. Then he could do whatever debriefing thing he needed to do, his superior would tell him off for failing a mission, Samandriel might be put on leave for a bit, and then he'd go right back to allowing people to follow their imaginations. However, before he could reveal any of that, Adam found himself slung up against the wall next to the door by some invisible force and held there, his feet dangling a good foot off the ground.

Telekinesis. Fancy that. Made sense, all things considered. Too bad he had to find that little trick out by pissing one off for all the wrong reasons, those reasons including a failure to communicate. It was hard to do anything but grunt in pain when his whole body felt like it was slowly being squeezed by a vice grip. So, he couldn't really do anything about the lack of understanding the angry angel in front of him had of the whole situation. Luckily for him, Samandriel had heard the angry shout and following thud of Adam's body against the wall. Samandriel ran down the stairs faster than Adam had ever seen him move.

"Hael, no!" Samandriel shouted, running in front of the new angel to slap her outstretched arm down.

Adam fell to the floor in a painful, crumpled heap. He expressed such pain with a strained ow.

"Samandriel," Hael greeted, her dark eyes roaming the other angel's body. She frowned, "What has happened to you? Why are you injured? Is this why you haven't returned home?"

Adam didn't have the will to be offended when Hael's gaze snapped angrily back down at him. He was too busy focusing on getting back to his feet and shaking off the pins and needles feeling that almost all of his nerves were giving off at once. Samandriel tried to rein in her wrath again by placing himself a little further in front of Adam.

"He didn't do this to me," he said gently. "He helped me. He's the one who bandaged my wings. You don't have to fight him to free me. Please, sister."

Hael furled her nose, as if the idea a lowly human helping an angel out was offensive, but she pulled her wings back into her body. At least, Adam supposed that was what she'd done. They'd folded inward and then just vanished as easily as they'd appeared. She still didn't seem to like him that much, however.

Samandriel bent down to help him to his feet. Adam swayed a little, but he managed to lock his knees. Samandriel looked worried about his condition but he shrugged it off.

"So. Friend of yours?" Adam asked peevishly.

"Sister, actually." Samandriel replied, hesitant smile twitching the corner of his lips. "Angels are all…kind of related…"

"Samandriel!" Hael scolded.

He flinched a little before mumbling, "He already knows more than that."

"And you thought that information was pertinent to a human because?"

"He's already seen things that he shouldn't have," Samandriel shrugged with his hands. "What does it matter if he knows other stuff that his kind can easily find in a book somewhere?"

Hael frowned, "You know as well as I do that there is a difference between believing something to be true and knowing it as truth. Revealing secrets is not allowed because it corrupts the ability to choose. Michael will not be pleased to hear about how much you've let slip. Nor will he be pleased to find out you let your guard down and wound up injured."

"Whoa, hey," Adam spoke up. "Hi. Yeah. I'm the guy who had to scrape your brother off his floor. The one who had to see the extent of his injuries and, lemme tell ya, they were pretty intense. So, if you could, could you _not_ blame Samandriel for getting said injuries? I mean, it's not like he _wanted_ to be tortured and shit. Lay off."

Hael turned her attention back towards him and the scowl returned, "You would do well to hold your tongue. Especially over matters that don't concern you."

Adam nodded, "Oh, really? They don't concern me? _He fell through my roof_. I think that kind of puts me on the map for shit that concerns me. And, as far as _I'm_ concerned, this is _my_ house. I'm not holding my tongue under my own damn roof. So, you can take your holier-than-thou attitude and cram it. You can tell this Michael-whoever that is, if that's who I think it is-that if he has a problem with his little angels being roughed up than maybe he should take it out on the assholes who did it instead of blame the victim. Hmm?"

"Adam," Samandriel whispered harshly.

"What?"

Hael continued to glare at him. He really didn't care. He'd be damned if he sat around and let these asshole angels pick on their own. Especially Samandriel and what he'd been through. Who did that?

Then, Hael's glare slowly melted. Adam blinked as he watched the young woman's features transform into a small smile. She seemed pleased. Adam was beyond confused, but he was going to assume he'd made his point. Hael turned her smile onto Samandriel.

"He's fearless. Righteous. I see now why you decided to stay with him while you healed. He'll be very good at handling anything that comes his way."

Samandriel didn't reply. He merely bowed his head. Adam was a little surprised to see a faint blush appear on the angel's cheeks. He turned his attention back to Hael.

"'Anything that comes my way?' What does that mean? Demons?" Adam asked.

Hael glanced at him briefly, "Among other things. Angels, perhaps?"

It was a teasing tone, but Adam had a sneaky suspicion she was being serious. If her earlier behavior was anything to go by, she may just be warning him about more overprotective siblings showing up at his door. Wonderful. His house was going to become a traffic center for family reunions. Yipee. He was ever so fond of family reunions.

"Well," Hael began. "I came here to rescue you, brother, but I see that's not necessary. I will inform Michael-"

"No!" Samandriel said quickly. At the tilt of Hael's head, Samandriel continued, "I'll… I'll tell him myself. Don't worry about it."

Hael frowned, "Very well. I'll leave you to it, then. But you really should tell Michael. The sooner the better. Before the next angels showing up at your friend's doorsteps are here under orders. And not for a _friendly_ visit."

Samandriel stiffened, standing at his full height. He nodded his understanding. It was a little disturbing seeing him act like… Well, like a soldier. Adam didn't like it. Hael nodded back, signaling the conversation was over. Adam would have shown her the door. If she hadn't vanished into thin air mid-blink.

"Ho!" Adam jumped, staring at the now empty space. "Since when did you guys teleport?"

"We don't," Samandriel replied simply. "We fly."

Adam slowly turned to face him. He stared at Samandriel. Samandriel smiled.

"Faster than you can imagine, I might add."

"Right." Adam said. "Sure. Short visit, wasn't it?"

"Did you want her to stay longer?"

"Nooo."

"Then it worked out for everyone." Samandriel's smile dimmed, "Hael's not a bad person. She's just very…forceful. When she wants to be. Or when she needs to be. Then again, I wouldn't expect anything less from the angel that carved the Grand Canyon."

Adam frowned at that.

"I thought the Colorado River did that."

"It had to start somewhere," Samandriel smirked. "Just as angels influence human activity, we've also been known to inspire nature. Hael's an angel of creativity. She envisioned the Grand Canyon and put things in motion to make it happen. I'm sure you noticed her wings?"

Adam nodded.

"She's _very_ proud of the Canyon…"

"Uh-huh."

So, Adam had a lot to think about. Angels. Demons. Geological phenomenon that could possibly be the work of divine intervention. His homework that he'd haphazardly thrown to the side at the discovery of demons. Speaking of demons.

"You do realize that you're going to have to teach me how to protect myself against hellspawn, right?" Adam asked.

Samandriel's smile dropped completely at that. The mirth in his eyes died. He sighed, turning away from Adam.

"I don't want to," he mumbled. "You're right, of course. I have to. Because no one else will. The 'person' who gave those sigils definitely won't go any further than they did. But I don't want to."

"Why not?" Adam tried to tease. He didn't like how heavy the air seemed to be getting between them. "Is the training too rigorous for the 'fearless' and 'righteous' man?"

"No. Quite the opposite, in fact. A child could defend themselves against demons given the right tools and know-how."

"Then why?"

"Because to prepare you against a demon attack means I have to face the fact that I'm the one putting you in danger of one."

Samandriel finally looked back at Adam. He didn't like the look in the angel's eyes. He looked defeated. Remorseful again. Like everything was his fault. Which wasn't true at all. Hell, the guy was probably feeling guilty for escaping in the first place. 'Oh, if only I hadn't crashed into this poor human's house. I'm such a miserable excuse for an angel of the Lord.' Yeah, well. Fuck that.

Without warning, Adam reached out and dug his fingers into Samandriel's naked sides. The angel had, apparently, never been tickled before. His reaction was hilarious. He shrieked, frozen in shock for a second, before he hopped away with a firm slap at Adam's hands. The indignant pout aimed at Adam was not going to wipe the devious grin off his face anytime soon.

And then the indignant pout became a determined glare.

And the devious grin faltered.

And Adam was lunged at with the same speed Samandriel used to clear the stairs.


	5. Pleasant Surprises, Unpleasant Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and Adam finds himself feeling some things he shouldn't. Also, he briefly 'confuses' a park ranger for a Girl Scout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I'm not dead. I just try too many things at once, and get distracted, and so y'all don't get fic updates except for once in a blue moon. My bad. Hope you enjoy.

Samandriel removed his wing bandages a few days later. His wings were still sore, stiff from disuse, but nothing was broken. Adam still had to groom them on occasion. The feathers that were falling out became greater in number, much to Samandriel's dismay.

The angel was amazingly self-conscious about the whole ordeal. He'd scrunch his wings tight against his back or position himself in such a way that Adam couldn't see them.

Adam wanted to tell him that wasn't necessary. He didn't care what Samandriel looked like. But, the problem was, _Samandriel_ cared what Samandriel looked like. To tell him his appearance didn't matter when he, obviously, thought it did would be borderline rude. So, Adam stuck with trying to compliment the wings instead.

The new feathers coming in appeared to be red in color. Scarlet, or just a few shades darker. The primaries were definitely all going to turn that color. Some of the smaller feathers, one of the covert layers on the outside, also would become it. It was a nice shade, Adam told the angel. It would make Samandriel more colorful.

Of course, Samandriel wouldn't be Samandriel if he didn't pout and grumble about how he'd wind up looking like his old Wiener Hut uniform and about the injustice the Universe had dealt him in doing that. Like it was further punishment to be reminded of what had happened while he'd worn that uniform.

He had Adam there. The angel's Grace did seem to be a bit dickish.

As for Adam's demonic studies, they occurred whenever he wasn't doing his normal studies. He learned about the different sigils scrawled on the mystery sheet of paper he'd found in his textbook. He learned that certain Latin exorcisms were effective in casting out a demon from its host, but that Enochian spells were much more powerful and quicker to speak. Too bad he had no idea how to pronounce anything in Enochian. Latin? Little bit easier. He'd stick with that. Even if that meant he'd have to memorize more words.

Ah, memorization. Adam was good at that. He was a by-product of the American school system, after all. Had to learn how to meet deadlines on his academic career, rather than actually _retain_ the information. They'd just teach him the fundamentals of every subject again the next year. Why bother to actually _learn_ anything?

Well, actually learning something would keep Samandriel off his ass, for one thing. Three days of practice on exorcism was all it took for the nerdy angel to get suspicious of Adam's knowledge retention. The fourth day resulted in a spur of the moment quiz. A quiz that was merely, "Start the exorcism in the middle." Naturally…Adam couldn't. Not without out a lot of uhs, ums, and flat-out blanks. Adam, then, received a firm scolding, followed by a lecture stating the importance of deconstructing his previous study habits and a list of better ways to _learn_ , not memorize. An actual list. Written down. Because Samandriel was thorough like that.

Adam, begrudgingly, took Samandriel's advice. But only when it came to the exorcisms and sigils. He'd leave his shitty study habits to his 'shitty' college curriculum, thank you very much.

Two weeks after Hael's visit - a visit Adam still didn't like to think about because ow - Samandriel appeared to be getting antsy. Adam knew what it was. The angel was going stir crazy. He'd have to be, really. He'd been trapped in a small house for weeks on end with nothing for company but himself, a college student that was gone a majority of the time, and a television with the most basic cable channels one could have.

His only _other_ source of entertainment had been the guest bedroom, apparently. Adam had come home one evening to find it unpacked. Pictures without frames littered the floor in their own little group, plastic and metal knick-knacks beside that. His small collection of fantasy and science fiction books were piled up in a corner. Sheets, extra clothes, an old cordless phone he didn't even remember packing or the reason for doing so, and more than a little squished pillows were in another.

Stuff was missing, Adam realized, but when he'd found the remains of glass in the bottom of the trashcan later, he came to the conclusion that said stuff had been broken by Samandriel's wail.

Adam had fully intended to march downstairs and say…something…to Samandriel. Except he didn't really know what he _could_ say. Samandriel _had_ been nice enough to do all that hard work without a word of it, and he'd even categorized things. Broke down the boxes and put them in a corner. (Adam briefly wondered if 'Alfie' ever had to break down boxes at Wiener Hut, or if angels just came with the forethought to be courteous to cardboard boxes.) Where would he get off yelling at the guy for tidying up his house? Again.

So, he didn't do what he'd intended. He'd, instead, remembered his deal with Dean and snapped a picture of the guest bedroom, completely fixed, and texted it to him. He also may have added an immature smiley just for shits and giggles.

Dean, of course, replied with a, "Yeah, no. There's no way in hell you managed to do that. You didn't even know what tar paper was. I call bullshit."

Adam replied to Dean's reply with a blurred, semi-unattractive picture of Samandriel's confused, and surprised, face with the caption, "I totally did. With the help of my angel."

He shouldn't have been surprised when Dean asked, "Y'know. It's none of my business, and I don't really care, but… This is the second time you've brought up an angel. This time accompanied with a picture of some dude… Are you gay?"

The long-suffering sigh that Adam gave was enough to have Samandriel ask him if he was alright. Adam replied he was fine, his brother was just an idiot. Samandriel made a half-hearted attempt to scold Adam for talking smack against his own family. At Adam's stare, however, Samandriel went back to fiddling with whatever was to be their supper. (Yes, the angel had eventually taken over feeding him, too. Much to his chagrin.)

"No," Adam's fingers typed. "Not quite."

"So. You like dudes and chicks?"

"Thought you didn't care."

"I don't. I'm curious."

Adam weighed his options. He honestly didn't care what Dean thought of him, if Dean thought anything. He also wasn't particularly worried about his sexual orientation. No, he wasn't straight. He wasn't gay. He may not even fit into bi. Truth was, he didn't give much thought to labels when it came to that sort of thing. If he liked someone, thought they were hot, he just did. That's all the brain power he was going to waste on the topic.

However, Dean seemed to be a little more narrow-minded. Perhaps a lot more. And nothing would please Adam more than to break Dean's mind by forcing him to think outside the box. With a smirk, Adam continued to text his brother.

"I like anyone I like."

A full minute passed before Dean replied, "Just anything with legs?"

"No, not any _thing_. Any _one_. I'm not interested in my kitchen table."

"Alright, smart ass. I was just askin'."

"I was just tellin'."

"Go away, twerp. I have a job to do."

"You don't have to keep texting back."

Dean didn't text back. Finally. Adam was left with the incredibly smug feeling that he got the last word in. Said smugness was only increased by the thought that Dean's minute long pause hadn't been because he was busy. Not that Dean would ever admit that Adam had forced him to use his brain for so long.

Naturally, Samandriel noticed his shit-eating grin and grew suspicious. Adam almost laughed at him. It was funny seeing an angel squint at him with a frown while stirring some rice in a skillet. Fried rice for dinner, then. The good kind at that, by the looks of it. Not that instant crap that left too much liquid and had a greasy taste. Nice.

"What did you do?" Samandriel asked slowly.

"What?" Adam asked innocently, leaning against the countertop as he pocketed his phone. "I didn't do anything."

"You're wearing that same look you do whenever you've gotten away with something. That deviously pleased with yourself look. So spill."

"Aw. You noticed," Adam cooed.

"Yeah, you've done something," Samandriel mumbled. The frown worsened, "You didn't…mention me, did you?"

Ah. So that's what he was worried about. Samandriel already had angels and demons clawing at his back. He probably didn't want any humans knowing he was a _thing_ , either. A thing that was within reach, in any case. He probably did want humans believing in him, or what have ya.

"Did I send my brother a picture of your face and call you an angel? Yes. Whoa!"

Adam was quick to grab the hand holding the spatula scant inches from his face, stray pieces of rice clinging to it diligently. The angry pout was back and directed towards him. Adam held up his free hand in a placating gesture.

"But he doesn't actually think you're an angel, so you can relax. Your wings were cleverly concealed by the angle of the picture," he explained.

Samandriel worked his jaw, obviously wondering if he could take Adam's word at face value or not. Soon, he brought his hand back, placing the spatula back in the skillet where it belonged. The set of his bare shoulders, however, hinted that he was not happy. At all. Adam sighed.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about you," he muttered.

"You already have," Samandriel grouched.

"To the only person who would never, in a million years, believe that angels exist."

"You don't know that."

"I have a pretty good idea."

"And what if you're wrong?" Samandriel nearly growled.

Right. Because, even if Adam thought he was right, that didn't mean anything. Truly. With as much shit that had found them already… Okay, so, like one unknown and one angel. But still. With as much shit that had found them already, Adam probably shouldn't even be joking to Dean about his new roommate with wings.

"Alright," Adam conceded. "Sorry."

His apology did relax Samandriel's shoulders a little, but he still seemed on edge. Adam's thoughts drifted as his eyes traced the shape of Samandriel's wings. They were the only thing keeping Samandriel grounded, he realized. Ironically. They were also the only things keeping him locked inside the house.

Adam nodded towards the feathered appendages, "How long before you can poof those?"

Samandriel tried to tuck the wings closer to his back as he reached for some teriyaki sauce to add to the rice.

"I don't know," he grumbled. "Why? Are they bothering you?"

"What?" Adam asked, surprised, though he really shouldn't have been. Samandriel made a habit of projecting his own feelings onto Adam for some reason. "No. I just wanted to know so we could go schedule a day out on the town, or something. Get you out of the house. Let you stretch your legs."

Samandriel laughed through his nose.

"Cute," he said, stirring the sauce into the rice, smell quickly permeating the small kitchen. "But, like I said, I'm not sure. Grace is tricky when it's healing. Different for every angel. So, I can't say. Besides… I'm probably not staying."

The twinge that jerked behind his ribs and spread down his arms was a familiar one, Adam thought bitterly. It appeared he'd let himself get a little too attached. Which wasn't unheard of for him. Still… A smile tugged at his lips as his gaze dropped to the floor. Damn, he was a lonely fucker, wasn't he?

"Right," was all he said.

Before he could make a bigger fool of himself or let his emotions damper his mood any further, a pleasant sounding knock came from his front door. Which was a bit odd. Knocks very rarely sounded pleasant. Incessant, perhaps. Demanding. Unsure. But never…chipper. Happy. Like it's a beautiful spring day and everyone should know that.

He _was_ just going to push himself from the countertop and answer the door, when he saw one of Samandriel's wings twitch in his peripheral. Oh, yeah, those bastards. Right. Adam jerked his head to look at Samandriel. The angel stared at him like a deer in the headlights. He then looked down at the skillet, looked back at Adam, and was clearly asking what the hell he was supposed to do.

"Just put it on a back burner and run upstairs," Adam said, slipping into a harsh whisper as if they weren't supposed to be caught.

"But it's not done!" Samandriel stressed, just as quietly.

"It's good enough! Just go!"

Samandriel frowned, but did as he was told, while Adam went to the front door.

He knew there was a good chance that whoever was at his door was probably someone - or some _thing_ \- he didn't want to talk to. He was roughly eighty percent sure. Better make that eighty-five. Anyway, in a bad mood _and_ remembering the last time he opened his door for a stranger, Adam approached said door with the air of someone who wanted to murder. Not a brutal murder, though. A very dispassionate one. Like a sniper kill. Chipper knock be damned.

The person standing on the other side of the door was an attractive young woman, Adam had to admit. Long, sunshine blonde hair with loose, natural curls. Cute bangs that were combed to the side. Pretty brown eyes. Pleasant smile. Even the oversized, green jacket and ridiculous ranger hat were adorable.

Too bad Adam didn't care.

"I don't want any cookies," he stated firmly.

"Cute," the girl continued to smile, "but that's Girl Scouts. I'm a park ranger. Can I come in?"

It was the way she said cute, and the adorable, and the request, that all pointed Adam towards the answer of who - what - was standing on his front porch. His forehead collided loudly with the door, earning only a polite blink from his guest.

"Lemme guess," he groaned, dragging his head down the door an inch. "Angel?"

"Muriel." She was still smiling.

"Assignment?"

"You? No. However, I have come from one, yes. Explains the outfit. I wanted to see Samandriel before returning to Heaven to give my report."

"Thought you guys weren't allowed to blab about that."

"Hael said Samandriel's already told you about it."

Adam narrowed his eyes at the girl. Muriel. She merely continued to smile pleasantly back at him.

So. When Hael had mentioned angels showing up at his door, it had probably been because she was about as effective at keeping her mouth shut as Samandriel or Muriel were. Must be an angel thing.

He stepped away from the door, motioning Muriel in with a sweep of his hand. She entered his house with a small spring in her step. Knowing his luck, she was the Angel of Impossibly Good Moods. Which…was just dandy for his.

Sarcasm.

Adam tilted his head as he shouted over his shoulder for the other angel in his house.

"Samandriel! One of your _other_ sisters is here!"

He heard the door to his bedroom open, and it wasn't long after that Samandriel's head poked its way slowly into view at the top of the stairs. However, the look of wariness disappeared from his face immediately once his eyes locked onto Muriel. A big grin broke out onto his face before he rushed down the stairs in glee.

Adam nearly slammed the door shut in his attempt to close it, panicking that there would be a pedestrian walking down the road with _just_ the right angle to look into his house and see Samandriel's wings. Muriel raised a fine brow at him from over her shoulder, smile a borderline smirk, but that expression vanished when Samandriel swept her up into a hug.

"Muriel," Samandriel greeted kindly, eventually stepping back to give her a warm smile.

"Hello, Samandriel," she replied. Her eyes quickly scanned his wings before they reconnected with his, "I see you're healing nicely."

Samandriel's smile faltered, but he nodded once in confirmation. They seemed to stare into one another, but only for a few seconds. Just long enough for Samandriel's smile to drop completely and for his eyes to suddenly find the carpet very, very interesting. Adam got the nagging feeling that Muriel was disappointed about something and Samandriel knew it.

"Right," he began, breaking the silence. "How long are you staying?"

Muriel's hidden smirk came back, "Long enough to talk to my brother and see how he's doing. Why? Am I interrupting something? I can always come back later."

Adam stared long and hard at the woman. He was pretty sure she was teasing him. And his mind was too busy focused on that _one_ sentence she'd used. 'Am I interrupting something?' Of course, the answer was no. Not really. Just his injured feelings. But that was entirely his own fault. Samandriel was none-the-wiser about those. …But was Muriel? Because she was giving off some distinct cat-with-mouse vibes, and Adam did not like that. Not one bit.

"No." He answered. "No, it's fine. Just, y'know. I have furniture. And it's a bit awkward for people to stand _awkwardly_ in front of a door when they could just, y'know, _sit_."

Muriel's smirk didn't disappear this time, and Adam's anxiousness only increased with his growing suspicion. Not good. Samandriel, however, was _very good_ at distracting his sister. He perked up at the command given by Adam and, perhaps a bit too excitedly, ushered Muriel towards the couch. The only sitting furniture in his living room. And he had only one kitchen chair. The kitchen chair that Samandriel used so he could maneuver his wings better and not squish them.

Basically, Samandriel had just unknowingly forced Adam to sit next to the angel that Adam was pretty sure knew what was up. Yipee.

Muriel plopped down on the couch with the ease of someone coming home from a hard day's work. Adam tried not to make eye contact with her as he walked around the coffee table to sit on the other side. Instead of plop, Adam lowered himself gently onto the cushion, body language all of a person who's highly uncomfortable. At least, he thought, he got to sit on the outside of the group, so that Muriel and Samandriel wouldn't have to talk over him. Literally.

After Samandriel dragged his chair back into the living room and got himself situated, he gave Muriel his undivided attention. Adam was only half-curious to know what Muriel wanted, just what she needed to suss out by visiting her brother. It couldn't just be his physical well-being, or she would have taken one look at him and poofed off to Heaven, as Hael had done. No, she wanted something else. Adam wasn't entirely sure Samandriel would give it to her. He hadn't given much of anything in leeway of information to Adam _or_ Hael.

"How are you doing, brother?" Muriel asked cordially.

"Fine," Samandriel replied effortlessly. Unlike when humans said it, he probably meant it. "My wings, as you can see, are still healing. But Adam's helping me with that."

Adam most certainly did not have to fight the blood trying to rush to his face. Because it didn't do that. Not at all. Nope. …why did it sound so _odd_ when he said it like that?

"That's good," was all she said at that. "Why have you not informed Heaven of your whereabouts?"

Samandriel's face fell. Again. Adam was really getting tired of people making that happen. Himself included. The angel's wings shifted nervously from where they spread out behind him on either side of the chair.

"There was no need," Samandriel lied. Horribly.

Muriel kept her face still, but Adam could see the shift in her eyes. She was disappointed. He only hoped she wasn't judging, as well.

"You were injured, Samandriel."

"Adam took care of it."

"We were worried."

"I'm _fine._ "

"You weren't."

Samandriel damn near snarled at the carpet, his upper lip twitching as the feathers on his wings began to rise. Adam frowned at the display. Clearly, Samandriel didn't want to talk about it. He should, perhaps. But… Talking was hard, sometimes. Adam understood. He wasn't entirely sure if the angels did.

"Yeah, but he is now." He finally spoke up. "So, what's it to ya?"

"You don't understand, Adam," Muriel spoke gently as she turned to face him, her eyes sincere. None of the rage or over-protectiveness Hael had. "Samandriel is ashamed. He is hurt. I know that, brother." She looked back to Samandriel as she continued, "And I'm sorry. But you know what injured you. You know what is out there willing and capable to do so again, and not just to you."

Samandriel stiffened, the feathers on his wings flattening back down. Soon, he deflated, as well. When he finally looked up at Muriel, his eyes looked defeated. And Adam hated that.

"Demons," he mumbled. "It was demons."

"I figured as much," Muriel replied evenly. "They're really the only creatures with enough gall to go after an angel. …but these aren't times of war."

She trailed off, staring at some point in the distance. Samandriel would get that look from time to time. Adam had chalked it up to weird, angel thinking.

"Not yet," Samandriel said softly.

Muriel tilted her head at that, staring at her brother.

"Did you hear their plans?" She questioned.

Samandriel's eyes found Adam's, briefly, before they returned to his sister's. He didn't reply, and Adam knew it was because whatever he had to say he didn't want Adam hearing. Which…probably meant whatever Samandriel had heard was big. And Adam should keep his nose out of it. Curiosity killed the cat. Satisfaction may not be able to bring it back. Not with demons involved.

"You should tell Michael," Muriel then added. "And soon, if it's that dire."

"Why don't you?" Samandriel asked, sounding tired.

"Because you don't want me to," she answered truthfully. "And because it's not my place."

Adam couldn't help the snort he gave, when Muriel looked towards him he explained, "Just like it wasn't Hael's place to tell you where Samandriel was? How do we know she hasn't already blabbed to Michael?"

The smirk came back. Adam was starting to think it was dedicated solely to him.

"Hael only told me because she knows I'm far more gentle than her when it comes to matters of Samandriel."

Samandriel gave her a look that was straight-up Ticked-Off Sibling.

"And it wouldn't be wise for either of us if we informed Michael we broke orders just to pay a visit. Hael most of all, since she wasn't even supposed to be on Earth at the time."

"She wasn't?" Samandriel asked.

"I told you," she replied, looking back at Samandriel. "We were worried."

Samandriel hung his head at that. He probably hadn't realized he'd scared his siblings so badly by not showing up when he was supposed to. Weeks after he was supposed to. Maybe time meant something different to angels; maybe it didn't. Either way, Samandriel had people that cared about him. Other than Adam. People that wanted him home.

And Adam was an idiot for feeling sad about that.

"I'm sorry," Samandriel muttered.

Muriel smiled, "You meant no harm. There's nothing to forgive."

She pushed herself off the couch with an air of finality and stretched, nearly knocking off her ranger hat with her arms. Both Samandriel and he stood after her, knowing that she meant to leave.

"Well, I'm off now." She turned her smile onto Adam, "Be careful with him. He's fragile."

Before he could respond, however, Samandriel's right wing came forward to smack her upside the head, knocking the ranger hat forward. She caught it without much effort, only stumbling a little. Adam chuckled once. They had an easy camaraderie, even with Samandriel giving Muriel his signature, indignant pout. Maybe not all angels would be a stuffy as Hael had been towards Samandriel, after all.

Muriel firmly placed the hat back on her head, glaring weakly at her brother, who glared right back with the firm declaration that he was not fragile, thank you very much.

Adam had to refrain from commenting that: One, yes, he was. Samandriel hadn't seen what he looked like after he'd fallen through Adam's roof. Hadn't seen the broken bone sticking out of flesh, or the oozing blood, and he didn't remember the scream he'd given when a simple box had tipped onto his wing. Adam remembered. Two? Well, Adam had a funny feeling Muriel hadn't meant physically. That's not what her visit had been about. Plus, the look in her eye? She _definitely_ knew what Adam wasn't saying, what he'd been told not to say, and what he'd planned on never saying, anyway.

Muriel left as she came. Through the front door, off the porch, and into the old park ranger truck sitting pleasantly in front of his mailbox. Adam smiled a little at the sight. Who knew angels drove? Hell, who knew angels did anything, come to think of it. Speaking of angels doing things.

Adam closed the door and then tilted his head over his shoulder to smirk at Samandriel. Samandriel frowned in reply.

"Bet the rice is cold," Adam teased.

Samandriel's eyes widened as he realized that, indeed, fried rice had been left to cool on the stove. Adam watched him race back into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding the kitchen chair sitting innocently in the middle of the living room floor. He followed after the angel, placing his hands in his jeans' pockets.

"Y'know," he began, "it's not going to kill us if it needs to be reheated."

"That's not the point!" Samandriel snapped, grumpily poking at the rice with the spatula. "It never tastes the same once it's reheated…"

"Uh-huh. I'm not a picky eater."

"I've noticed."

"Hoo-hoo," Adam grinned. "Look who's getting saucy."

"Look who's in a better mood."

Adam rolled his eyes. Well, he was working on it. He wasn't too thrilled Samandriel had picked up on the bitterness, though.

"So, I _am_ bothering you," Samandriel muttered, startling Adam at the sudden change of the _angel's_ mood.

" _No_ ," he stressed. "Neither your wings nor you are bothering me. Why do you keep thinking that?"

Samandriel shrugged with both his left shoulder and his left wing as he idly stirred at the warming rice in the skillet. He looked worse than Adam felt. He looked as he had when he'd apologized to Muriel not many minutes ago. He looked _guilty_. Which was a common thing for him, Adam knew, but it was ridiculous because it was unwarranted a majority of the time.

"I don't know," Samandriel replied. "I'm taking up your space. I stole your sheets to, essentially, make a nest. I'm eating your food, even though I don't have to. I can stop that if you want. I should probably stop that. I just… It doesn't matter.

"And I waste your time. You have to groom my wings a lot. And I get the feeling you stay home a lot more than you usually would because I'm here and you think you have to entertain me. Which you don't, honestly! I can entertain myself. I unpacked… You probably didn't want me to unpack the guest bedroom. I shouldn't have done that either. I'm sorry.

"And now you're dragging your hands down your face. See? I knew it. I am annoying you. It'll be better when I go."

" _Samandriel_ ," Adam whined through his hands. Hands he then dropped to stare at the angel. "You're not annoying me. You're not a bother! You're the opposite of a bother! I don't-."

 _Want you to leave._ That's what he damn near said. That's what he wanted to say. That's what he wasn't, in a million years, going to say.

"Look. Before you came around…however painful and destructive that event was…the only thing I had here was a bunch of boxes, basic cable, a laptop with moderate internet connection, a shit-ton of homework, and a whole lot of homesickness. Sounds like a lot, but it really wasn't.

"You're a funny guy. You don't mean to be, but that makes you funnier! I enjoy your company. I do the things I do with you because I want to, not because I feel obligated. Yeah, I joke about being the host all the time, but I don't _mean_ it that way. Jesus, man. You gotta lay off the self-flagellating guilt."

Samandriel worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. He seemed to be thinking over Adam's words, actually taking them in, which was a good thing. Because they were true. And that selfish part of him hoped that, if the angel knew he liked his company…he'd actually stay around longer.

"Do you really mean that?" Samandriel asked.

"I said it, didn't I?"

Samandriel simpered. If Adam didn't know any better, he'd say the angel was trying not to blush.

"Thank you," was all he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn near forgot I drew [wings](http://24.media.tumblr.com/054fe3471cb196df06edb60507d4b9dd/tumblr_n1firh3XGM1r01220o1_1280.png).


	6. Die Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Samandriel's wings healed and cloaked, Adam is finally able to drag him out of the house.

By the time Samandriel's wings finally healed enough so he could cloak them, Adam was sure he'd already gone stir-crazy, too. Which was kind of ridiculous, really, because he left his house constantly. Y'know, school and stuff. The grocery store. Blah, blah, blah. But none of that stuff was anticipated nearly as much as finally being able to drag Samandriel outside. Into the sun. With the birds and the bees, the fresh air and the nosy neighbors.

He'd come up with a play date already. Their first stop was going to be the park. He was going to show Samandriel how to play baseball. If the angel didn't already know how to do that, of course. Who knew how many MLB players needed some inspiration? Imagination. Whatever.

He had two reasons for this stop.

One, he wanted to laugh at Samandriel if the angel sucked at the game. Yeah, call him cruel, but Samandriel was just awesome at failing spectacularly at something. He'd get so indignant and pouty. It was cute.

Two, he was kind of still sore about that off-handed comment the angel had given him about knowing how to protect himself because he knew how to swing a bat. It was a comment made almost a little over a month ago, but Adam's ego demanded that he prove to the angel that he meant what he'd said, dammit. So what if he was a little on the scrawny side compared to some? He'd knock that goddamn ball out of the park. Just you watch.

Their second stop he didn't really have plans for. Not concrete ones, anyway. Time typically flies when playing sports. He definitely wanted them to go for some food, though. They'd be hungry after a day of playing ball.

Well, he'd be hungry. Samandriel didn't _get_ hungry. Yet, the angel still ate whenever he felt like it.

Adam wanted to test the angel's palate. Maybe go to the Mexican restaurant; dare him to try the chili. …Knowing Adam's luck, Samandriel wouldn't be affected by the spices at all.

After that, maybe they'd catch a movie. Or go to Wal-Mart and play on their arcade games. The grab machines. See if Samandriel's luck was any better than his own.

Okay, so, basically he'd planned a date, he just wasn't going to tell Samandriel it was a date. It was a _play_ date. Which was completely different, he told himself. Purely platonic. He just wanted to see what Samandriel would be like out in the open, when he wasn't cooped up in Adam's house and constantly under the impression he was just this major inconvenience. He wanted to see Samandriel being, well, free.

Before he, now free, went back to Heaven. And Adam's life would go back to normal. No more divine, no more company. Just a whole lotta schoolwork and future plans and a mother who still worked the graveyard shift at the hospital. …He really should invite her over after Samandriel flew the coop. Give her the grand tour.

Though, he really didn't look forward to explaining the ugly rugs he had set up at random places in his house _or_ the weird pentagram drawings underneath them. "I'm not a devil-worshipper, Mom. Honest!" probably wouldn't be believed. Not really. Though, she'd probably still accept his life choices. His mom was cool like that.

When Samandriel's wings _had_ healed, there'd been no warning. One night, Adam went to bed after way too long spent reading biology. The next morning? The wings that he had stepped around, having been spread out along his bedroom floor, were not there anymore.

Samandriel was. His wings weren't.

It'd been hell trying to rouse Samandriel to inform him of his little miracle. The angel didn't _need_ to sleep - he didn't need to do half the shit he did - but once he _was_ asleep, he was staying that way until he decided wakefulness was a better option. No amount of calling his name, calling him by his fake name, poking, or prodding was going to convince him to leave his little nest. Not even the fake emergency plea of the house being on fire. No, all Adam got for his troubles was a pointy elbow to the solar plexus. A pointy elbow and no apology later.

Thanks, bro.

Whenever Samandriel _did_ finally decide to crawl out of Adam's room and come downstairs, he seemed amazingly…blah for someone who had just been given a clean bill of health by his feathery appendages.

"Don't look so happy," Adam groused, still a bit sore about the forming bruise on his chest.

Samandriel didn't even stop as he shuffled into the kitchen, "Bite me, Adam. Please, tell me you didn't drink the last of the orange juice."

Adam, at first, raised a brow and puckered his lips, wondering if he should make a joke about how he wasn't adverse to biting the angel. He thought better of it. It wasn't as funny when it was true. Then, he wondered why Samandriel even bothered to ask him about the juice, because the angel opened the fridge before he could even answer. Spotting what he wanted, Samandriel snatched it from the refrigerator and went for a glass.

"You're welcome," Adam deadpanned.

After filling the glass with the entire remainder of orange juice, Samandriel tossed the cardboard container into the trash and took a seat beside Adam.

That was a switch. Guess not having wings on the physical realm paid off when it came to basic creature comforts, such as sitting on a couch. Samandriel folded his free arm over his still bare chest and idly sipped his juice.

He had yet to look at Adam. Most of his attention was reserved for the television. Which Adam hadn't really been paying attention to because he'd been mostly thinking about his 'play date'.

"So," Adam began, trying not to feel snuffed as the angel ignored him. "Wings good?"

Finally, the angel turned to face him. The unimpressed, unamused stare he received wasn't really what he'd hoped for. But, he'd make do with what he got.

"Wanna go do somethin'?" He asked, undaunted.

"Can I not be a miserable grouch? You're very good at it when _you_ first wake up. Can I have a go?"

"Sure," Adam nodded once. " _After_ the morning ritual, you wanna go do somethin'?"

"This is about getting me out of the house, isn't it? That conversation from a few days ago?"

"Yes."

Samandriel rolled his eyes and shifted back to face the TV.

"And what, pray tell, are we going to be doing? I'm assuming you've thought that far ahead, of course," Samandriel grumbled, taking another sip of juice.

"Baseball."

Samandriel slowly turned to give him an inquisitive look. If Adam didn't know better, he would think he'd just snapped the angel out of his morning grump act. Alas, he knew better. The grouch wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon. Not unless Samandriel decided it was too taxing a routine to keep up. Just like he did with sleeping.

" _Why?_ " Samandriel asked, tone of voice hinting that this was a ludicrous idea.

An Angel of the Lord finally healed enough to take flight, and Adam's first thought was to take him to play baseball? How did his puny, human mind even work? What was logic?

Adam shrugged easily, "Hey, you insulted my batting skills. I just wanna prove you wrong."

Samandriel looked doubtful.

"No, you're right. You probably wouldn't be able to hit the ball. 'd go way too fast for your angel eyes to see."

The angel's brow furrowed. Eyes narrowed.

"Oh, I doubt that," Samandriel growled.

Adam smirked as Samandriel turned away. Hook, line, and sinker. If there was one thing he had learned from Muriel's visit, it was that Samandriel did not like to be likened to a weakling. And he would practically do anything to convince you of otherwise. Adam was also going to use that tactic against him with the chili.

Yeah, he'd made up his mind. The Mexican restaurant was going to happen.

"Oh, by the way," Adam began, "I only have one glove, so. You're good to use your hand, right? Or are you afraid your pristine fingers are going to get hurt trying to catch the ball?"

"I'm good," Samandriel replied easily. "I'd think the glove would better suit _your_ delicate, _human_ hands. Don't you?"

"Oh, it's on," he grinned. "Later, of course. Whenever you 'wake up' enough."

"Mm-hmm. And where are we playing this game?"

"Park down at the end of the road."

Samandriel merely nodded to say he understood the plan.

It was hours before they even left the house. Samandriel took his sweet time to pull himself out of his self-imposed grouch session. Then he wanted to cook breakfast. Then he ransacked Adam's shirt drawer to find himself one.

He was very picky, it turned out. Not when it came to designs or colors, but fabric types. The softer the shirt, the better. He wound up choosing a very old, grey t-shirt. Then he commandeered a pair of Adam's jeans just for good measure.

Of course, he had to roll the legs up a little because he was shorter than Adam. He didn't seem to mind, though.

Adam did. A bit. He didn't like the idea of Samandriel poofing off to Heaven with his pants. He liked those pants. They weren't faded or frayed. His best jeans didn't belong in Heaven.

Adam didn't say anything about that, though. No, he kept his mouth shut and let Samandriel have his way. Because, really, it was probably one of the last times Adam'd be allowed to do that.

And at the rate Adam was going, if he didn't stop his train of thought, he was going to be the most depressed person to ever play a game of baseball on a sunny, Saturday afternoon.

So, he derailed that train of thought, shoved his souring mood in the dark where it belonged, and then proceeded to run Samandriel through the rules and regulations of American baseball.

It was a simple enough concept. There was the ball, of course. Depending on how he held the ball, how he threw it, the trajectory of it would change. That's how you got curve balls, fast balls, etc.

Samandriel didn't seem interested in that information, so Adam went on to explain the bat, which he pulled out from underneath his bed.

His bat was wooden. A Louisville Slugger, actually. He'd had it for what felt like forever. He was quite fond of it. He explained how wooden bats were heavier than aluminum ones. They were better, in his opinion, even if they were known to shatter more easily if you weren't careful. With a wooden bat, he could hit the ball farther. It also didn't sting the shit out of his hands. Which, considering how he hated batting gloves, was cool.

Samandriel didn't seem interested in that, either, as he walked past Adam and out of their room.

"You could at least _try_ to be enthused, y'know," Adam called over his shoulder.

"It's not that I'm not excited, Adam. I just already know everything you're telling me."

Adam frowned, feeling a bit bummed, "You _have_ played it before, haven't you?"

"No," Samandriel shouted back from the guest bedroom. "But I have been on Earth for a long time. I know what baseball is. As for the mechanics of it? It's all physics."

The angel returned from the guest bedroom to plop the mitt into Adam's outstretched hand. So that's where that was.

"I'm _made_ of physics. And quantum physics. And some physics that humans haven't even conceived of yet."

"Now you're just showing off."

Samandriel smirked, "Isn't that what you're doing?"

Their trek to Windom Way Park was spent with equally friendly banter. Samandriel _did_ seem glad to be out of the house, if his constant, faint smile was anything to go by. It was like the minute the sun hit him he perked up. Like a plant.

Adam entertained the idea of plant angels. There were those fire whales, after all. Maybe there were some plant ones, too.

…Yeah, probably not.

Adam tried to spy Samandriel's wings as they walked. They were well and truly hidden. He even went so far as to try to touch them, which looked absolutely ridiculous and Samandriel quirked his brow at him for it, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. When asked about them, Samandriel easily informed him that the wings were still there, just on a different plane of existence. A different _level_ of energy, he'd called it. Again: Physics.

Now, Adam was no dummy when it came to physics. He watched a lot of scientific television. Bill Nye, too. He'd taken physics in high school. He'd probably take it again in college. And maybe his brain could wrap itself around the idea of energy beings that were somehow able to encase themselves in fleshy bodies. …He just couldn't figure out how the hell that worked, or how Samandriel could exist on more than one 'level' at a time.

He quickly decided he did not care.

Nope, all he was supposed to care about was thoroughly dusting the angel in his childhood sport. He hadn't played in a while, himself. Didn't really have anyone to play with. But swinging a bat was a bit like riding a bike. Never really forgot how to do it. Muscle memory was awesome like that.

When they reached the park, there were a few kids playing on the playground equipment. Another group, of what appeared to be young teens, were playing at the basketball court. The scene reminded Adam of another park. One his mom used to take him to a lot, whenever she could. He smiled on reflex. Those were good memories. He really should invite her over. Like, really really.

"Well, this is going to put a damper on things," he mused.

"How so?" Samandriel asked, tapping the bat against his shoe.

"Traffic," Adam explained, scanning for an area of the park that didn't seem too occupied.

"Should we go somewhere else?"

"Nah. Already here. Probably be best to stay near the back of the park, though. Sound like a plan?" Adam asked, titling his head toward the angel.

Samandriel shrugged, propping the bat against his shoulders. Adam couldn't help but smile at the gesture. It was an amazingly human one, he thought. Instinctual, almost, to place a bat across the shoulders. Never woulda thought an angel would do it. Then again, once upon a time, he hadn't believed in angels anyway.

The back of the park wasn't really a _back_. There was no main fence, since the neighborhood was a relatively tame one. No crime that he knew of. Not that he'd stayed there long, but he'd done his research. No vandalism or risk of it. So, there hadn't been a need for one, he reckoned.

The park itself wasn't big, but it wasn't cramped, either. The swing sets and things were isolated to one corner. They barely took up any room. The basketball court was a little clip diagonal from that. Out of the way, but close enough that it wasn't too big of an inconvenience to walk to it. Only one park bench was on the premise, sitting under a tree. The outline of park was merely some strategically placed trees.

It was at the far right row of trees, in the corner farthest from the road, that Adam and Samandriel set up shop. The more rambunctious kids didn't run out that far, so there was a less chance of one of them accidentally walking into firing range. Adam didn't know Samandriel's strength, but he knew his. The last thing anyone needed was a baseball he'd hit cracking a child in the head. Because it would most likely crack their skull and that would be bad.

"So," Adam began as they reached their destination, "which one you wanna do first? Batting or pitching?"

Samandriel shrugged again. "I guess batting? I _am_ already holding the bat."

"Point."

"Am I gonna have to run bases?"

Adam took his position a few feet from Samandriel, flapping the more-than-a-little worn mitt open and closed, warming it up. He also stared at Samandriel, and when the angel made no impression that he was going to catch the ridiculousness of his question, Adam finally replied.

"Samandriel," he said gently. "You can't run bases if there's no one batting behind you. At least, not if you don't hit a homerun. Which we kinda can't do here, unless we wanna go chase after the ball… In the middle of the road."

"Oh," Samandriel mumbled. Dammit, if he didn't even seem embarrassed. "Right."

"Thought you said you knew about baseball?" Adam teased.

"Bits and pieces, okay?" Samandriel snapped. "I just remembered there were bases and that you're supposed to run to them."

"Whose on first, what's on second, and I don't know's on third?"

"What?"

Adam grinned, "Nothin'. Right. So. I'm going to throw you the ball; you're going to hit it. Hopefully. Try to keep it away from the kids, if you can."

"Oh, I can."

Adam was actually surprised when Samandriel moved his body into the proper batting stance. What with the recent goof, he'd honestly thought he was probably going to have to teach the guy how to stand, but… Nope. Seemed the angel actually _had_ paid attention to some games here and there.

Samandriel also knew how to hit, turned out. He hadn't even flinch when Adam threw the first ball. Didn't blink or tense. Instead, he kept his eyes on it and swung. Expertly. The ball cracked off the bat, hit the ground, and bounced right back towards Adam.

That hadn't been a fluke, either. Because every time Adam threw the ball, Samandriel always managed to make it go towards the ground and back towards Adam. Adam tried changing his pitches; Samandriel kept hitting them.

Physics, his brain reminded him. It wasn't a skill for the angel, playing baseball. It was the easy manipulation of the universe's forces. Which…was kinda annoying and not fair. Adam didn't have that innate ability. No, he'd had to learn how to swing a bat, time it right, hand-eye coordination and all that jazz. Damn smug angel wouldn't stop smirking at him, either.

Adam had planned to keep pitching until Samandriel struck out, but since the little asshole was going to keep hitting the ball, he had to tell the guy to switch with him. He wanted to give it a go, for once. Samandriel relinquished the bat readily, switching it for the ball and glove.

Samandriel's pitches _were_ fair, however. He didn't do anything cruel, like throw the ball too fast or too tricky for Adam to hit. But, he was still throwing with the accuracy of a creature who was definitely cheating at the game.

Stop using your math, Adam accused. Play fair.

Only, _that's_ when Samandriel decided _not_ to play fair. It took four strikes for Adam to realize the angel was pulling something. Four strikes of, "I should have hit that. What the hell?"

"What are you doing?" He griped, letting the bat swing loosely by his side. The ball continued to roll innocently behind him.

"Nothing," Samandriel smiled.

"Bullshit." Adam pointed the end of the bat towards the angel, "Stop it. Whatever the hell you're doing: Stop it."

"But, Adam," the other mocked. "I'm only playing fair! For an angel."

"Yeah, no, lil' wise guy. 'Play fair' meant for _me_. Play fair for the pathetic human in your presence who can't warp reality to fit his needs."

Samandriel stuck his tongue out at him and raised his hand. Adam didn't even have time to be confused as to why the hand was raised before the baseball went streaking past his peripheral and straight into Samandriel's hand with a loud smack.

Adam's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. He looked around them frantically, paranoid someone had seen that.

"Relax," Samandriel said, drawing his attention again. "There was no one watching."

"How do you know?" He squeaked.

"Eyes in the back of my head. And I'm only half-joking. You ready to go again, or should we switch?"

Adam opted for switching.

They went back and forth for roughly two hours before the game got to be boring. Adam had, ruefully, admitted defeat. His ego had been bruised and his muscles were growing tired. As far as he was concerned, it was time to move on. Hopefully, the next moment planned for his play date would go a lot more smoothly. Unless Samandriel decided to just deaden his taste buds to spices. Darn fun-ruiner that he was.

By that time, the children had left. The sky had darkened substantially. Wind had picked up, too. Rain seemed to be on the way, and a lot of it. Parents didn't want kids getting wet, so they'd fled the approaching storm.

Adam didn't mind rain. Or thunderstorms. However, it would be really annoying to get caught out in a downpour while walking back to his house to drop off the gear and get the car. Because then he'd get soaked, Samandriel would get soaked, and they would have to change clothes before going to the Mexican restaurant. Which Adam still had not informed the angel about. Maybe he should get on that.

"We done?" Samandriel asked as Adam lowered his bat and began to walk towards him. He actually sounded a little sad at the idea of stopping.

"Yeah," Adam replied. "It's gonna rain, for one thing. Also, I had other plans."

Samandriel frowned, looking up at him when he stopped in front of the angel.

"What other plans?"

"Dinner. In a restaurant. Where you don't have to cook."

"I don't mind cooking."

"That's not the point."

Samandriel opened his mouth to reply, but he never did. Instead, his mouth snapped shut as his eyes widened in fright.

Adam had _never_ seen that look on the angel's face before, and merely seeing it made his own heart rate skyrocket. He didn't wanna know what would make Samandriel _that_ afraid. He had a funny feeling he was going to find out anyway.

"What?" He demanded.

Samandriel's answer was to grab him by the elbow as he snapped his head to his right, facing the tree line. He was already backing them away when Adam turned his own head to follow the angel's gaze.

A dark-haired woman was standing at the tree line. She wore a toothy grin, hands in her pockets and hip lazily canted to the side. Adam didn't know what was supposed to be scary about her, but Samandriel's grip on his arm was tightening and their footsteps were getting faster, so it had to be something.

"Where ya goin', feathers?" The woman purred. "We just wanna talk."

"Run."

And then Adam was running. Well, more like he was being dragged and _Samandriel_ was running.

Adam could barely lift his feet fast enough to keep up with the angel. Only Samandriel's strength and incessant tugging kept him from face-planting the ground.

His mind raced as fast as his legs did. The woman had called Samandriel 'feathers.' That couldn't be a coincidence. She had to know who he was - what he was. Which meant there was a really high probability that Adam had just come face-to-face with a demon. Samandriel wasn't terrified of angels; he was terrified of demons. A demon they were now running from.

His hand tightened around the bat it held. He'd never gotten around to getting that iron, salt-encrusted one he'd thought about weeks ago. Never really thought he would need it, truth be told. He really wished he had it now. The wooden one would to have to do.

When he tried to check over his shoulder, to see if the woman was chasing them, Samandriel gave him an even firmer tug.

"Don't!" The angel snapped, panic clear in voice. "It'll slow you down. Just keep running!"

"Why," Adam breathed, trying to ignore the stitch about to form in his side, "are we running…from a demon?! You smite those!"

"Hellhounds."

"Hell-?!"

What the fuck was a hellhound?!

"Fly?!" Adam nearly screeched, any semblance of calm long gone as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

"I can't!"

Adam wanted to ask the angel what good was he then? What good was having recently-healed wings if they couldn't flap you to safety? But the sound of snarling and barking silenced him.

At that sound, suddenly everything was real.

Of course, Samandriel was real. His wings were real. Hael and Muriel were real. _But that sound?_ That was more real than any of them. That was more real than _him_ , it felt. College. His friends. His mother. _Him._ All of that was less than the sudden realization that that growl had come from something that wanted to _kill him._

That sound was death.

And it was right on his heels.

His house was in front of him. They were quickly approaching it. If he could just reach it, he'd be safe. Devil traps were just past the doors. Salt was still there. He had a goddamn baseball bat. He would go down swinging if it came to that. But it wouldn't come to that. He just had to get in his house.

The front door flung open before they even reached it, and Adam knew that was Samandriel's doing. The angel crossed the threshold first, his hand slipping from Adam's elbow. At the sound of a growl behind him, Adam acted on instinct. He spun, bat firmly held, and hit…nothing.

There was nothing there, his eyes told him, but his bat still hit _something._ The force of the impact traveled through the bat and up his arms. Whatever he'd hit - this _hellhound_ \- was a heavy fucker, that was for sure. The invisible beast yelped, his bat shattered into splinters, and Adam was yanked inside his own house by the collar of his shirt.

Adam hit the floor with a pained grunt as Samandriel slammed the door shut, throwing his own body against it to brace it. The door jarred violently as a hellhound ran into it, causing Samandriel to flinch and try all that harder to keep the thing shut.

They were trying to break the door down. They were still trying to get in. He didn't understand it. And then he looked down. There was no salt line down. The rug had been cast aside when they'd run in.

Adam scrambled up, trying to reach for the rug. He had to put it back down right.

"Run!" Samandriel shouted to him instead, eyes wide.

Adam paused. What good would running do? No, they had to fortify-

The sound of glass shattering fractured his thoughts. Adam whipped his head to the right. The TV fell forward, crashing loudly against the floor. The stand it was on buckled.

The window, Adam realized. The window behind the television. The salt line behind it must have been broken. And now the monster was inside. And there was no point in running. Not when he couldn't _see_ what was after him. He could _hear_ it but he couldn't _see_ it.

Samandriel shouted at him again. The angel moved, just slightly. There was a snarl. Then Samandriel was screaming. His body jerked awkwardly to the side, away from the door. He stumbled.

Adam didn't know what was happening. All he knew was that Samandriel was falling. Samandriel was in pain. He had to help. He tried to move forward. He had every intention of wrenching the monster off his friend.

He never made it that far. Something hit him, colliding with his shoulder and his chest. He fell to his back on the floor. It growled.

Then came the pain. The searing pain that spread across his abdomen. It sunk down into him. His legs, too. His arms, as he tried grabbing at the hellish dog that was literally tearing him apart.

It hurt. It hurt a lot, and he knew he was screaming, but he didn't care. That's not what he was worried about. Because Samandriel was pinned to the floor across from him, shouting for him and trying to push himself up. But he couldn't. Something had a hold of his wings, Adam realized. Even if he couldn't see them, Adam knew that's where they were. That's what the hellhound was tearing into, shaking its head and shaking Samandriel.

Tears were in Adam's eyes. He knew that, too. But that didn't matter. Because across from him his friend was being torn apart _._ After finally healing, coming so close to returning home, his wings were being ripped away from him. Again. And all because Heaven didn't care. Samandriel may die here because Heaven didn't care. Adam was never going to see his mother again, or finish school, or heal anyone, because Heaven didn't care.

If the last goddamned thing Adam Milligan did before his body gave out on him was send a _very_ pissed-off prayer - no, a promise - that he would march straight up to the pearly gates and shank someone in the face if they didn't heal Samandriel after all this, then so be it. That's what he'd waste his last breath on.

And that's just what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	7. Wheels Start To Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world continues on, without Adam. If only briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is use of the gender-neutral pronoun ze/zir from here on out. You're gonna have to get used to it.

Meg had found them.

Samandriel had known it would only be a matter of time before such a thing happened, before the demons came to collect what they considered theirs. Their source of information. Their _angel_.

He was a prized commodity to them, even if he hadn't been treated as such. How many years had it been since one such as him had fallen into their hands? Millenia? Samandriel truly didn't know. That wasn't his division. Angels weren't told what they weren't meant to know.

Except that they were. Deep down, programmed in places in their minds - their _wiring_ \- that they didn't even know existed. Until someone went poking. Until a demon knew just how to crack them open and get what they needed to know.

Crowley had been that demon. Frankly, Crowley knew too much about a lot of things, but it was his knowledge about what made angels _tick_ that had allowed him to do the demons' dirty work. Meg and her 'siblings' had hunted Samandriel down, captured him, and handed him over to Crowley. Even though Meg hated the 'businessman,' she did the best for her father.

Not Lucifer. No, Lucifer was the demons' god. He was their creator. There was a difference between a Father and a father. Meg's father was a fallen angel. An old Watcher by the name of Azazel.

It was a name that Samandriel knew well. All of angel-kind knew it well. The Watchers had abandoned Heaven and spoiled humanity; they'd paid dearly for their actions. Azazel among them. He had been bound.

The demons wanted him freed. Meg most of all. Though she was not a nephilim, he was her father. Family, it seemed, was still a driving force for Azazel's self-adopted kin. The Watchers had done well, in that aspect. Family had always been their goal, even if that meant one they had corrupted themselves.

Azazel would tell them what to do, the demons had said. He would give them a greater guidance than what they had currently. Crowley hadn't cared about that, he'd admitted. He just liked prodding at his new pet. Because his new pet liked to squeal and talk.

But his pet also listened.

And he escaped.

Crowley may have gleaned from him a way to unbind Azazel - pried it from channels of information Samandriel shouldn't have had, hadn't known he'd had - but Samandriel had learned from the demons, too. He knew their plan, and when he'd flown from the abandoned warehouse he had been imprisoned in, he had tried to reach Heaven. He had to tell Michael what was going to happen; he had to tell _anyone_. However, his wings had failed him. He had fallen into a human's house, broke himself worse than Crowley could ever dream of doing, and the vital information he held remained untold.

He should have told someone. Despite his fear, his shame, and the horrible, torturous memories that haunted him…he should have told _someone_.

Because Meg found him. He hadn't sensed her, just as he had failed to do the first time. Only, this time, when she came to claim him, she brought creatures Samandriel had never seen before. Not in person. Oh, he knew what they were. The hounds of Hell. And he knew that they would chase him _and_ Adam mercilessly. They wouldn't stop until they had him. He had resigned himself to that fate the moment he had _finally_ , after a day of forgetting the world around and focusing solely on Adam and their game, sensed the demon and her hounds.

But Adam?

The hellhounds would kill him.

They would spare Samandriel, leave him broken and bloody for their mistress, but they would kill anyone else that got too close. The creatures enjoyed the hunt, but they enjoyed the kill more.

Samandriel couldn't let them have him. Not Adam. Not his friend. So, he'd ran. He had firmly grasped Adam by his arm and he'd ran. It was a small chance he had to save the boy, but it was one he had to take. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something were to befall Adam. Something dark and devious. Because of _him_.

The demons would torture Samandriel and, in the end, kill him, but the knowledge of Adam's death would be worse.

He had foolishly thought that, if Adam could just make it upstairs, past the salt line by his door and in a place hard for the hounds to reach via another route, that the boy would be safe. Hell, he could have been right. He would never know. Because Adam _hadn't_ run upstairs when they'd finally reached the house. He had broken his bat on one hellhound, fallen inside, and then just remained. He had looked at Samandriel with unadulterated panic and worry when Samandriel had commanded him to run. He had wanted to help, that stupid, stupid boy. His stupid, stupid friend.

And, when the window broke, the first hellhound leaping for not him but Adam, Samandriel lamented the fact that he had failed again. As the hound ensnared his wing in its maw, instead of Adam's face, Samandriel gave in to his despair. He cried out, he was pulled down, and he could only watch as a second hound tackled Adam to the ground. He could only scream as his friend did, watching the beast's claws tear into Adam's abdomen, tear into his vital organs and doom him to death. Watch as Adam, despite the immense pain he was in and the terror flooding his veins, stared right back at Samandriel as he tried to lamely fight off the creature.

Because Adam was more worried about _him_. Samandriel could see it; he could feel it.

Adam had always been more worried about others than himself. As a child, he had tried to take care of his mother. Not that she needed it, really, but he'd felt it was owed to her. In his young mind, she worked all the time with no breaks, and so he tried to give her some. And that compassion only grew as the young boy grew older. It became the inspiration for his dream. His plan to become a doctor, or even a nurse. He wasn't picky. He just wanted to help and heal.

That dream was shattered as Adam's life was being torn from him. It was shattered as Samandriel's wings were by the creature clawing at his back and biting. It was shattered as his house had been by an angel that was meant to protect humanity, and had doomed one of their flock instead.

Adam was dying, and Samandriel didn't want that. No, Adam was meant to live, Adam had to live, and he _would_ live. Because, despite the pain wracking his fleshy body and his Grace, Samandriel still had power. It was fraying at the seams and volatile, but it coursed through Samandriel, and it had the power to destroy any of Hell's creatures in range.

With an enraged cry, he released that power. His Grace surged up and out of his core, into his wings - the path of least resistance - and then it exploded outward with a piercing wail. Everything was bathed in white light and dull heat. The sound of glass breaking was only muffled, to him, by the sound of his own energy and the cries of the Hellhounds as they boiled in their own skins. The blast only lasted a few seconds, but that was all it took. His Grace drew back into his core, once again weak and straining against the damage that had been wrought on him, and everything was still. Everything. Even Adam.

Panic surged through Samandriel as he looked over at the body of his friend. At first, he wondered if he had killed the boy on accident. If his power had been too much for the younger to handle. Yet, Adam's eyes were fine; they were closed. He wasn't breathing. His heart wasn't beating.

He wasn't dying anymore, he was dead.

Samandriel felt the unfortunately familiar sensation of tears prickling his eyes. It was a common misconception that angels could not feel. Especially for the lower ranks that spent most of their time on Earth rather than in Heaven. Humanity was contagious, really. And pain was well-known to him.

However, his grief wasn't all-consuming. Not yet. He could see Adam's soul. It was a bright, little thing that was doing its damnedest to hold on to its body, tendrils of energy wafting up from his chest only to suck back down, as if the sky terrified it. It probably did. Adam was a good candidate for an earth-bound spirit. But it wasn't the sky that was frightening, it was the reaper that hovered near the corner of the house, like a translucent shroud draped over bony limbs and a horrific face.

It was waiting, he knew. Waiting for Samandriel to do what he planned to do, whatever that may be. Angels could carry souls the same as reapers could. But, unlike reapers, they could heal. Since Samandriel had 'arrived' on the scene first, the reaper was giving him the right-of-way. Which was what Samandriel needed.

"No, no." He whimpered, flinching at the shocks of pain traveling through his body as he began to crawl towards Adam. "Adam."

The soul responded to his voice, rather than his command. It drew itself from its body more.

"No!" He shouted hoarsely.

With an almost startled flicker, it ducked back down. The reaper shifted anxiously. Normally, angels and reapers were on friendly terms, but Samandriel couldn't help but curse at the creature as he reached Adam's body, placing his right hand against the gaping wounds that had leaked Adam's blood all over him and the floor. The still-steaming body of the hound that had caused such wounds lay lifelessly on the other side of the boy.

Samandriel shifted his Grace's attention, away from his shattered wings and ripped body, down his arm and to his palm. He poured the energy into Adam, trying his best to seal the wounds. The soul flickered again. If he could just heal the damage, if he could do so fast enough, Adam's soul would easily slip back into the body. It was trying to do that on its own, after all, even with nothing to go back to.

He couldn't go fast enough, however. The more Grace he pulled away from himself, the worse his pain got. The worse his pain got, the less concentration he could muster. His wings were too damaged. They felt like they were killing him. And they could, he noted mutedly. If he expended too much energy and his true form was damaged too much… Away from Heaven and its healers…

Samandriel glanced at the slowly - too slowly - closing gashes on Adam's stomach before he let his head fall to the boy's shoulder. He was shaking with the effort not to fall completely. The healers, he had thought. They were in Heaven, but Heaven wasn't far for an angel. He couldn't fly, of course, but they could. They could arrive in an instant, if they would.

If they would.

But why wouldn't they? He was damaged. His distress call would take priority, especially since he'd not spoken to the Host in what felt like ages.

Struggling to continue healing Adam and struggling to stay conscious, Samandriel prayed. He prayed for healers, and he prayed for Adam, and he prayed that that determined little soul would just stay put for few minutes longer as its hold on its body began to waver.

He didn't know who answered his call. He couldn't see anything anymore, he was barely there, and the Grace leaving his body through his palm wasn't even an afterthought anymore - it just _was_. But he felt them as soon as they landed. There had been no pomp to the arrival, just absence followed by presence. A large presence. Powerful.

Samandriel barely had time to be confused by the energy he was feeling. A hand - fingertips, really - touched his back gently, and then the other's Grace was coursing through him.

It set him on fire.

The foreign energy traveled through him like lightning, scorching him while it healed. It arced off his wings and traveled _through_ him, through his hand, down into Adam. He felt like a wire, allowing the current to flow.

It was too much. Even if it was healing him - and Adam - the energy was too much, too strong. His body gave out on him. Everything did.

* * *

Raphael was an Archangel. All of angelkind knew of this. Many humans knew of this, as well. However, that was not the point. The point was, being an Archangel, one of the Seven to have stood in the presence of God, ruler of the Third Heaven, and a lot of other titles that ze didn't particularly care about but had been prescribed to Raphael regardless, ze really should not have been bothered to answer prayers of the devoted or even those of fellow angels.

Unless it was a True Emergency, of course. Which it rarely ever was. Thankfully. Because Raphael was generally busy handling the affairs of Heaven that could not be put on hold just because someone was dying.

God rest their soul.

So, why Raphael received one prayer that had been aimed at no one in particular - shot out into the aether like many prayers were these days - ze had no idea. It was an unwelcome prayer, that was for sure. Raphael had furled zir nose up at it as soon as the resonating voice of a human began to bounce around zir very core. Sometimes, ze loathed that ze could not shut the accursed things off.

And it was a very arrogant prayer, too. Demanding in a way that wasn't rare but definitely surprising. The nerve. Honestly. Yet, Raphael couldn't silence it, so ze listened. Boredly. Staring at the faces of zir subordinates as they rambled on about healings they had done, or mercy killings as was the case with many of the Rit Ziens.

That was a dedicated group, the Hands of Mercy. Almost cruel in how little they seemed to care for their charges. Raphael often wondered if they were capable of feeling empathy or compassion, anything other than the clinical 'feelings' that constantly adorned their faces. If there was anything other than the almost sick satisfaction they had regarding a job well done.

Wondered though ze did, ze didn't particularly _care._ Their Father had His reasons for creating all of them the way He had. As long as they performed correctly, _why_ care?

Anyway, as Raphael listened to the annoying prayer, ze caught on that something was amiss. Ze frowned, an action that was not missed by the Rit Zien in front of zir. They cocked their head to the side, and Raphael understood the other was confused as to why ze was frowning. Raphael waved zir hand at them to dismiss them, sending out a short feeling of ease at _them_ ; it had not been _them_ that sparked Raphael's own confusion.

The Rit Zien left, as well as the others crowding around zir. They knew ze was in no mood to receive them.

The prayer was by someone dying, that much was for certain. Those always had an extra feeling of urgency. The closer the soul got towards the Veil, the stronger it became. But that wasn't the _off_ part. No, this person was praying for someone else. A more noble brand of prayer, Raphael had to admit, and, unfortunately, all too common for zir tastes. Still, Raphael had no intention of answering the prayer.

Until the name of Samandriel passed this person's - this man's, this _boy's_ \- mind.

_Samandriel_. That name registered with Raphael, naturally. Angels rarely forgot one another; Archangels never forgot anyone. When the threat against Michael entered the prayer, Raphael remembered just _why_ the name meant something to zir other than 'angel.'

Samandriel was the little lost one. Michael had been complaining about him just recently. He hadn't returned to Heaven in many Earth days, which was not like Michael's subordinates. Michael was punctual and he liked his Flock to be the same. They knew better than to disappoint him. He was not a kind person when faced with disobedience, least of all dissension. It would have been unwise for the little one to delay any longer, lest he wanted to suffer Wrath.

Yet, here was this human, crossing over as time moved on, praying for someone, _anyone_ , to save Samandriel. Raphael frowned. Michael's angel was in trouble, he was near a human that knew of his angelic name, and the theory of rebellion was immediately tossed out the window. Something wasn't just amiss, something was _wrong._

Raphael spread zir brilliant, green wings to fly to Michael. Ze had to warn him that something might be targeting his forces. After all, that was the only theory that made sense to the analytical Archangel. However, before ze could move, another prayer shook zir core.

This time, it was Samandriel on the other end of the line. He was severely injured. Raphael could feel it through the link. The pain evident in the other angel caused zir own wings to shudder, if only minutely. Ze was, after all, the Healer. No matter how much ze loathed interfering in matters, instincts always took precedent over rational thought.

Instead of praying for himself, however, he was asking for assistance for an 'Adam.' Raphael scoffed at the name. It had _history_ , after all.

Samandriel was desperately asking for assistance for this boy. Pleading. Begging. It was pathetic, really. Unbecoming of an angel. If Raphael hadn't known better, ze would have thought Samandriel had become a little too attached to his charge. However, ze did know better.

It was no coincidence that ze had received both prayers. A reason existed for everything, as far as the Archangel was concerned. It was governed that way. And, now, ze was obligated to fulfill both prayers, wasn't ze?

With a swift, downward stroke of zir wings, Raphael flew - in a way humans coined teleporting - to the source of the prayers.

Upon zir arrival, ze immediately knew zir surroundings. Ze was in a house, first floor, in Madison, Wisconsin. Most of the glass had been shattered within it. The air still vibrated with recently released power. The smell of Grace was everywhere, as well as the burnt, disgusting stench of dead hell spawn.

Raphael's gaze traveled over the smoldering husks of hellhounds and landed onto the crumpled form of Samandriel. His Vessel was young, roughly the age of the broken boy he was hunched over. The boy - this Adam - was dead. His soul clung desperately to its body. And this little angel was trying his best to heal the poor thing.

He was a fool. He was killing himself. Raphael would never understand the attachment the lesser angels formed with the humans. Ze had half a mind to leave them to their fate. However, ze knew a Sign when ze saw one. Ze were ordered to heal these two, and so ze would.

Raphael stepped languidly over the body of a hound and came to stand over the pair lying on the floor. Samandriel felt zir then, but the little angel was too exhausted to do anything. He didn't even flinch when Raphael placed zir fingertips between his shoulder blades and wings.

That was all the contact Raphael needed to heal the two of them. Archangel, after all. Any more power would overload the lesser one and fry the human.

Zir Grace traveled into Samandriel, instantly restoring his depleted Grace - and more. Through Samandriel, Raphael healed Adam, as well. The angel fell unconscious, comically smothering the soul back into its body, which it immediately began to knit back together with.

Raphael stood back up and glanced at the reaper that still hovered in the corner.

"You have no purpose here," Raphael intoned. "Leave."

The reaper had the audacity to smirk, translucent lips pulling up to reveal skeletal teeth.

"No purpose yet," it rasped. "Angels aren't immune to our touch."

"I am aware. Take your riddles and leave. You bore me and your presence is irritating."

The reaper vanished without further reply. Not that Raphael needed, or desired, one. It had said what it needed to. 'No purpose yet.' Ze cast zir eyes down to the bodies of the hellhounds. A demon was outside, as well, just across the road from the house. They would be foolish to enter while ze remained. They would be foolish to enter, period, Raphael amended when ze felt the presence of another Archangel just outside.

Samandriel was protected, as well as the human boy. For now. That's all the confirmation Raphael needed. Ze spread zir wings wide once again. This time, when Raphael flew, ze flew to Michael.

War was coming. Raphael could feel it.

* * *

Meg smirked from her vantage point across the street, hands in her pockets as the breeze teased her hair. It was a bit too warm and muggy - what with the demonic omen rolling in - to be wearing the leather jacket she did, but, well, it looked badass. Who gave a damn about heat? Certainly not a demon. Hellfire, y'know? Ya get used to it.

The hounds currently ripping their way into that stupid human's warded house were her babies, trained and pampered by her and her alone. Crowley could boast all he wanted about how big _Growly_ was, but her pets? They were built for speed and bred for slaughter. Hers were better. They would bring her what she wanted, no questions asked.

And she wanted the angel.

Little _Samandriel_. Ridiculous name, if you asked her. Way too long. So, she just called him 'Feathers.' He hated it, after all. He hated her. She reveled in it.

She had missed teasing him. She had often wished to get in on the action with his torture, but Crowley was a hog and she had shit to do. Like freeing her father. It'd been ages since Azazel had been thrown under that mountain in the middle of nowhere. Ages, yet she still missed him. She missed his guidance and his ruthlessness. But! He was getting out soon. Very soon, if her siblings had done as they'd been told.

And all thanks to Feathers.

She really should thank him, whenever her hounds got around to dragging his sorry ass out of that house to drop him by her feet.

Unfortunately, she'd counted her chickens before they'd hatched.

She had less than a second's warning - a ringing in her ears - before the bottom floor of the house exploded in a brilliant light. She cried out, covering her face with the crook of her arm to keep from getting blinded. She heard the cries of her hounds over the shattering glass and the car alarms down the road, and her blood boiled in rage.

"You fucker!" She screeched, throwing her arm down as the light vanished.

That goddamned angel had killed her pets! She wanted to rush in there and rip him to shreds. Not with her hands, no. The best torturers never got their hands dirty. But she knew better. If the bastard still had juice left in 'im than she could just as easily be smote. No, all she could do was stand by the side of the road and seethe, nails digging into the palms of her hands.

Maybe she could call in back-up. Maybe they could raze the house. Make it look like a gas leak. They were good at that. Demons were exceptionally cunning and resourceful when it came to getting what they wanted. Sure, Feathers might be fried in the process, but he deserved it, and they already knew what they need to. Wouldn't be a loss for _her_.

Any plans she could have conceived were put on hold shortly enough.

She felt the angel as it descended, her hair raising on her arms and spine tangling with the power of it - as well as the instinct to run. Azazel had been an angel, too. Once. Still was, technically. However, he'd never made her feel like this. Whoever was touchin' down in there was _big._ Yeah, no way she was going in there now. Calling for help would be a waste, as well.

She rolled her eyes. And she'd been so close, too. She wanted to kill something. A lot of somethings. Maybe a bar full of drunkards. Or some nuns.

The arrival of a second _big_ angel - Archangel, she realized belatedly - came silently and without warning. Meg merely felt the need to turn around, so she did. Quickly. Jumping back like a cat.

Her breath caught in her throat. Angels were impressive, in their own right. Brilliant, shining beacons lost in a sea of people. They weren't _everywhere_ , contrary to what the saps on Earth thought, but when one was around, any hellish creature and psychic in the area could spot them from a mile away. But _Archangels_? Hoo boy.

She'd never paid attention in Sunday School. Of course, she'd never _been_ to Sunday School. She had no idea who was who, really, when it came to angels. Some names here and there, but not faces. Meg had no idea who was standing behind her, but he was _beyond_ impressive. The halo? Twice the size of Feathers'. The wings? Golden and amber and resting, tucked neatly behind the Archangel's back like he hadn't a care in the world.

The expression on his face, on the other hand, was clearly unamused. Borderline pissed. Meg wanted to snark at him. She really did. The words just caught in her throat at the thought of being killed just before Azazel's return. That would suck. A lot.

The Archangel folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.

"This isn't over," Meg snapped, more bravado than anything. But, demons were good at that, too.

The Archangel rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers.

Meg was pleased when she discovered she hadn't been destroyed at that snap.

She was not so pleased to be at the bottom of a saltwater lake.

* * *

Gabriel felt it when Azazel's cage opened, just shortly after he'd sent that demon on her merry little way. It was a small blip in the fabric of Reality, but it was a blip nonetheless, and he knew his siblings had felt it, too. The Archangels, anyway. The everyday riffraff? Not so much. Then again, the normal guys hadn't been responsible for caging the asshole in the first place.

How the demons figured out how to open that cage was up in the air. Though, Gabriel had a clue. It definitely had something to do with the little wiener kid currently snoozing on his BFFs chest on a living room floor.

When he'd started trailing the kid, he hadn't realized just _why_ the demons had been so interested in him. He'd thought he'd just been a chew toy that'd run away. Gabriel'd trailed him to keep things off his back until he'd healed. Have a little fun in the process. Gabriel hadn't realized the underlying current of 'betrayal.' If he had, he would have said something. Done something, actually. When it came to the Big Things? He didn't like sitting on his hands.

Perfect, he thought bitterly. Just perfect. He threw his head back and sighed loudly.

"And I was having so much fun," he muttered.

And now he had to _work_. First order of business? Shut off all those annoying car alarms, fix the broken glass, and, oh yeah, wipe the neighbors' memories. He could see them peeking through curtains; he could hear them freaking out. That had to stop. Seriously.


	8. Facing Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam wakes up, surprised to find himself alive, and the world comes tumbling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter sitting around and figured, "Lol, been a year. Probably should publish that." This story isn't dead, it's just moving at glacier speed, thanks to _Tearing Up the Script_. Also, there may be some weird formatting after this publishes. I don't know what happened, but transfering it over from Word Online made it freak out. Tried to catch all the errors, probably didn't succeed.

Adam was warm. Pleasantly so. Which was…odd. He was pretty sure that death was supposed to be cold. The thought of being in Heaven crossed his mind, but it was quickly tossed out the window because, well, he could feel things. Like, he was pretty sure he was lying on his living room floor. The carpet fibers under his fingers and arms felt a lot like his living room's. Also, he could feel gravity. Heaven wasn't supposed to have gravity, he didn't think. He was breathing, too. He could feel his heartbeat, and there was another heart beating against his chest.

Yeah, no. He wasn't in Heaven.

Opening his eyes, Adam saw that he was, indeed, in his living room. That was his coffee table peeking over this massive expanse of feathers. His boring ass curtains. His boring, creme-colored walls. Ah, no place like home.

Why was there a massive expanse of feathers in his line of sight?

Blinking once, Adam tilted his head to look at himself. Well, more like he was looking at the conked out angel that was laying on top of him. Explained the warmth. It didn't make any other sense, but it explained the warmth. The heartbeat was also reassuring. After all, last time he'd seen Samandriel, the guy was getting ripped to shreds by an invisible dog from Hell.

Yet, Samandriel appeared to be fine. No gashes littered his back like they should have, his wings weren't broken. No blood was anywhere, in fact.

Adam scrunched his face up in confusion at that. There should have been blood, right? And he should have holes in his abdomen, but they weren't there. Sliding his arms out from under the angel and glancing over them, he realized he didn't have teeth marks on those, either.

He was fine. He felt right as rain. Samandriel appeared fine, too. This turn of events made no sense to him.

He was pretty sure what had happened hadn't been a dream. Like, it's a little hard to imagine getting disemboweled realistically. Plus, why would he have fallen asleep on the floor with Samandriel haphazardly strewn across him? If he were the drinking type, this would make more sense. But he wasn't, and it didn't, and he was pretty sure he hadn't been dreaming but his brain was still confused as all fuck and making him doubt reality.

He could only think of one way to get to the bottom of the situation.

He plopped a hand down, perhaps a bit too hard, onto Samandriel's back, most of his hand connecting with wing, and demanded, "Hey."

Samandriel jerked as if he'd been shot, eyes popping open, wide and alert. Then he was pushing himself off Adam, pressing his hand painfully into Adam's stomach for leverage. His wings flapped once, sending wind and dust into Adam's face.

"Dude!" He complained, blinking repeatedly.

Samandriel wasn't paying him any attention, however. He was crouched, wings raised to the ceiling and ready for anything, as he quickly glanced all around them.

Adam observed him for a short moment, wariness creeping upon him. He made a point of not addressing that, though. Danger was too real and too close for his comfort. He wanted to keep it away. So, instead, he joked.

"Little trigger happy there, aren't ya?"

Samandriel finally looked at him, the corner of his lips pulled down into an uneasy frown. Well, that wasn't good.

"We're alone," the angel stated, though he didn't seemed pleased at the fact.

"Uh-huh," Adam drawled. "That's a good thing, right? No more… No more evil dogs and stuff?"

"I killed those," Samandriel admitted, "I couldn't… I didn't heal us."

Adam was surprised. Not at the healing part. That part made sense. The angel had healed himself before, though it'd taken time. Healing others wasn't so shocking, really. In all honestly, he probably should have thought about that sooner.

No, it was the killing part that had thrown him. Samandriel was probably the most docile person, angel, that he'd ever met. When he hadn't been picked on to his breaking point, anyway. Hearing that he'd taken out the hellhounds? Especially in the condition he'd been in? …It was a bit of an eye-opener.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Samandriel tensed and brought himself to his feet. He turned to face the door, and then there was a man standing there. Adam nearly jumped out of his skin, crawling backwards as quickly, and ridiculously, as possible.

The man appeared young. Dirty blond hair and dark eyes. Just a little bit of facial hair that made him look a tad older than he was meant to. Obviously, he was an angel, even if he were wearing all black. The little cross earring in his ear was a bit much, Adam thought. Points for style, he supposed, but the irony was a bit suffocating. Though, the angel probably wasn't wearing it for ironic purposes, which just kinda made it worse.

"No," the newcomer answered in a smooth voice, glancing at Adam and then Samandriel.

He was smiling. Marginally, and mostly with his eyes, but he was smiling. It was creeping Adam out.

"That would be Raphael."

The breath that caught in Samandriel's throat didn't seem like a good omen. Nor was the way he took a step back from what's-his-face, tucking his spread wings behind his back like he'd done something wrong.

Who was Raphael? Adam vaguely remembered a Raphael. Also an angel, obviously. He just didn't remember why that name was important enough to be vaguely remembered. When he tried to think about it harder, his scumbag brain merely gave him info about old painters and ninja turtles. Yeah, no, not quite. Thanks, brain.

"I didn't mean -," Samandriel cut himself off, fidgeting a little. "I hadn't meant to call Raphael down, I -"

The annoying, almost ethereal, smile on the stranger's face grew. Adam glared at the expression. He didn't know what it was about this guy, but he didn't like him. …Also, perhaps he should stop sitting on the floor, like an idiot, and stand, like everyone else.

Pushing himself to his feet didn't even warrant the new angel's attention. So, Adam stepped closer to Samandriel. He had to at least try to be noticed in his own house.

The action didn't work. He remained soundly ignored.

"You didn't," the stranger corrected. "Not technically. Raphael received both of your prayers-"

"Both?" Samandriel questioned, then he looked at Adam. Adam only shrugged.

"-and ze followed orders."

"Ze?" Adam asked.

"Raphael's neither male nor female," Samandriel explained.

"Oh."

The newcomer hummed, eyes finally traveling to Adam. He didn't seem pleased with him, though a polite smile remained on his face. Adam smiled back and put his hand forward for the angel to shake.

"Hi," he greeted. "Name's Adam."

The angel didn't even look down at the offered hand as he replied, "I know who you are."

"He wants you to introduce yourself," Samandriel said awkwardly.

"I am called Ephraim," the other replied, as if on cue.

Ephraim looked down at Adam's hand blankly. Slowly, he reached forward and clasped Adam's hand in his own. He didn't shake it, though. He merely held it loosely. Then he let go. Adam nodded his head once, pursing his lips. Well, points for trying, angel man. The smile returned to Ephraim's face.

"I mean no disrespect, but why are you here, Ephraim?" Samandriel asked, the tension slowly draining from his body. "We're already healed…"

Ephraim faced him, "I was sent by Raphael to make sure you were still breathing. Gabriel left before he should have, and the last thing my commander wants is to have failed a mission because of zir brother's flippantness. But, you are both well. For now."

"Oh, great," Adam snarked. "'For now.' That's not foreboding at all."

"You were made by demons," Ephraim replied strongly. When he cut his eyes back to Adam there was no mirth in them anymore. "Did you expect them to leave you be? Even with Gabriel's warding around this house, they'll find a way to destroy you as long as you remain here. More…human ways. Until you leave, you might as well be knocking at the Gates."

Adam wasn't entirely sure Samandriel realized what he was doing when he stretched a wing out to put it between Adam and Ephraim. Ephraim noticed, however. He didn't seem to care about the show of allegiance.

"Michael was made aware of your situation, Samandriel," Ephraim stated instead. "He will decide what to do with you and your friend here. Trust in his judgment. Raphael has already washed zir hands of the situation. It would be wise to not fall prey to more hellhounds; ze won't heal you again. I might be sent instead."

With the sound of wings beating, Ephraim vanished.

Adam scoffed immediately. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He got the feeling that guy - when he wasn't being an almost emotionless drone - was an asshole. Not the fun kind of asshole, either.

"And what the hell was with that threat at the end of his little speech?"

It wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that Adam realized he'd voiced his thoughts at all. He cringed inwardly. Samandriel probably wouldn't like him bad mouthing other angels. However, when he glanced over at him, Samandriel seemed distraught more than anything. He was still staring at the spot Ephraim had been standing in seconds before. Adam frowned.

"You okay?"

"We summoned Raphael," was the reply he received. "An Archangel. The Healer."

"And that's baaad how?"

Samandriel looked at him, "Think of it as calling your President to fix your sink."

Adam pouted, "Odd metaphor, but I think I get what you're going for."

"And, now, Michael knows. Gabriel, too. Three of the Archangels know that I'm a failure and -"

"Hey!"

"I am!" Samandriel shouted back, causing Adam to jump. "And that's not the worst of it. Michael will come. He'll come when he shouldn't have to. He hates having to move against his will. And when he finds out what the demons want to do? What they can do because of me? Oh, ho, I'm dead."

"You're not dead," Adam snapped, jaw clenching. "I threatened to stab that fucker in the face if I had to and don't think I won't try! Now, can we stop with the Doomsday talk and work out a plan on how to get out of Dodge? That's what Ephraim was hinting at, right? Get out before, I don't know, the demons plan a drive-by?"

The pained expression on Samandriel's face didn't lesson, but at least Adam could see the wheels turning in his mind. Good. The more the angel focused on a plan for an escape, the less Adam had to worry about the guy coming up with other horrible things to think up about himself. Not that Samandriel wouldn't probably think them up later, but a distraction was at least a momentary reprieve, right?

"It'd probably be best to wait for Michael," Samandriel mumbled. "Ephraim said to trust his judgment."

"And let him do whatever you're afraid of him doing to you?" Adam questioned. "Can't we be a little more proactive?"

The other sighed, "Adam. How are we going to get out ourselves? The angels know our position, the demons, too. If I fly from here, I'll leave a trail for the angels. If we take your car, there's no guaranteeing the demons won't do something… At least here we have a little protection. Just until Michael can offer you more."

"And you?"

"Stop worrying about me!" Samandriel growled, eyes on fire as he stared up at him. "That's what got you killed in the first place!"

"Tell you what," Adam growled back, taking a step into his personal space. "I'll stop worrying about you when you start worrying about yourself. Pick up the slack a little bit, hmm?"

The angel glared, jaw setting as his wings began to puff up and rise tensely from behind his shoulders. He was livid, and Adam didn't particularly care.

He wanted them to be equals, that's all. They weren't, obviously. Not when one of them had wings and powers and shit. But that wasn't what he meant. It was the self-sacrificing bullshit. How Samandriel would just lay down in front of a steamroller, for him, instead of finding another way.

Adam didn't want a relationship where one person tried to give everything and refused to accept anything in return. He didn't want a friendship where one person would take all the hits. He would fight, he had fought, he just wanted Samandriel to do so, too. For himself for once. If they died, they died, but at least they would have tried, right?

Just as quickly as it'd come, the rage tightening Samandriel's body left him. Once again, he looked defeated as he broke eye-contact with him. He surprised Adam by leaning forward and placing his forehead against his shoulder, wings slumped and arms hanging loosely towards the floor. Samandriel sighed.

"Fine," he mumbled at Adam's shirt.

"Uh," Adam stammered. "Fine what?"

The cuff from the top of Samandriel's right wing to his head was even more surprising. Adam jolted at the quick, feathered blow, but he didn't move from where his feet were practically rooted to the ground. Because Samandriel was still leaning against him like this was a normal display of affection for him. Or something.

Honestly, this was a bit new, for Adam. Samandriel usually wasn't touchy-feely with him. Even with all the wing grooming he'd done; that'd felt more like a job rather than touching someone for touch's sake. That's how Samandriel had treated it, anyway.

Adam supposed this had something to do with, y'know, full-death experiences and stress. Awkwardly - and he wasn't completely sure why he was being so hesitant about it - Adam wrapped his arms around Samandriel, pulling him into a loose hug. A friendly one. He made sure to express this cordiality by carefully patting the angel's back a few times.

The tension further eased out of Samandriel at the hug.

They stood there, in a one-sided hug, for a few seconds too long. There was an appropriate amount of time to hug someone, in Adam's opinion, and they'd crossed it. If left any longer, Adam would be holding the angel. Which…had a slightly different connotation. He took a breath, glancing at the ceiling as if it could help him.

"Right," he spoke. "So. Plan?"

Samandriel sighed, again, and pulled away from Adam. He still looked tired, but less broken as he seemed before. At least that was an improvement. He shrugged, looking up at Adam.

"We wait for Michael."

"No -"

"We don't have a choice," Samandriel interrupted, tone of voice pleading with Adam to listen. "They're going to move you. Or us. I don't know. But they're going to do it. Because it's the most logical thing to do. They can give us resources we wouldn't be able to get ourselves."

Adam frowned, "Move where?"

"I don't know."

"What couldn't we get on our own?"

"I don't know, Adam, okay?"

"So, we're just running on faith?"

The unimpressed stare and folded arms Samandriel gave him as a form of reply only proved to Adam that the angel was not amused by his pun nor his sass. With a twitch, the wings disappeared from behind his back.

Adam blinked. He'd forgotten they could do that now. He frowned. He'd forgotten a lot of things, actually. Things he'd just remembered.

"Wait. If we leave, what about school? Friends? Family?" He asked, watching Samandriel as the angel walked past him. "Are we going to be in lockdown, or?"

"I know you don't want to hear this, Adam, but you're probably going to have to quit school."

"No," Adam said firmly.

Samandriel stopped, turning on his heel to face Adam again, as he stood in the kitchen doorway.

"Yes," he stated easily. "At least until things settle down."

Adam felt himself getting angry again, "And when will that be?"

Samandriel stared at him, but he didn't reply. Instead, he turned again and entered the kitchen.

Adam fumed as he heard the angel open and shut a cabinet drawer. He glared at the floor, working his jaw.

Perfect. Great. 'An indiscriminate amount of time' was definitely going to throw a wrench in that whole become-a-doctor thing. And probably ruin his scholarships. Which would make him have to take out more loans or pay out of pocket, and…

Welp, his future'd just been tossed out the window, hadn't it? But, hey! At least he was alive, right? Ha.

Actually, no. Being alive was a good thing. And it wasn't like he couldn't freeze his progress in college. Just had to tell the university he was quitting, get the correct paperwork, get his teachers to sign off on it. Okay, that last part was going to be tricky, what with the demons hanging around outside. Yay, one more obstacle to face.

Samandriel came out of the kitchen with the salt container. Adam didn't even ask what he was doing, he knew. Placing salt at every entrance. And, though Ephraim had said they were warded, Samandriel probably wasn't taking any chances. Adam didn't blame him for that. He had no idea who Gabriel was, other than an Archangel, but he'd 'left before he should have.' Adam got the feeling the guy wasn't the most trustworthy or dependable.

"I'm going to have to go to the college," he announced, watching Samandriel pour a line of salt by the window behind the TV.

The TV that had been put back in place at some point. Alright, then. Also, the window had been repaired. He'd noticed these things sooner, obviously, but because his brain identified the house as normal he'd kinda forgotten that, last time he was conscious, it hadn't been.

Angels making repairs again. Amusing.

Samandriel didn't even pause in his work as he accused, "Why?"

"There's this thing about being human: You kinda can't drop off the face of the planet and no one bat an eye. I can't cut ties without consequences," he replied easily.

Samandriel frowned. He almost glanced at Adam but seemed to think twice, his eyes zipping back to the windowsill after only having made it halfway. He stood and walked to the door, then began to fix the salt line there, too.

"Then I'll go with you," he said.

"No offense, Samandriel, but don't you think you'd…draw attention?"

The angel's frown worsened. But Adam could tell he knew he was right. That he wasn't happy that Adam was right. And Adam suspected that the angel probably wasn't going to like his idea at all now.

"Can you at least wait -"

"Until Michael? Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Y'know, why doesn't he just quit my classes for me? Save me the trouble of ever leaving my house again? Until he needs me to, of course. Hell, why not just zip me on up to Heaven? The demons will never find me there."

"Don't be an ass."

He'd poked Samandriel too hard with that little outburst. He was glaring at Adam again, and if his wings had been visible, they'd probably be as fluffed as the were minutes ago.

Adam sighed, worrying at one of his eye teeth with his tongue. Yeah, he was aggravated. What else was new? He really should stop directing it at his friend, huh?

"Right. Sorry." He motioned towards the stairs with his thumb. "Look, I'm going to go take a shower. Call my mom; tell her I'm moving. I'm just glad she won't call me a failure for dropping out. Hopefully."

"You're not a failure," Samandriel mumbled.

Adam stared at him.

"Yeah, turn that phrase around so that it's aiming at you," he replied with a twirl of his finger.

Samandriel rolled his eyes but didn't say anything else.

Adam turned and walked up the stairs, headed for his room for some clothes.

He didn't think he needed a shower. He seemed clear of cuts and blood and such. Why bother? Well, for one thing, he wanted some time alone to think and a shower was a good way of getting that. Locking himself in his room would only be questioned by Samandriel, causing one of them to be worried and the other to be annoyed. For another, he could call his mom in private. Maybe. If Samandriel didn't have extremely good hearing.

His room was exactly the way he'd left it. Too bad he had no bat to return under his bed, though. He'd blame that on the hellhounds. He'd lost his glove and ball, too. He was pretty sure Samandriel had dropped those mid-run. He hadn't really been paying attention to that at the time. For obvious reasons.

At least his favorite jeans were fine, even if they were still on Samandriel's ass.

It was the small things he had to cling to to keep from losing it.

Adam hadn't panicked when he'd first discovered Samandriel, no. Because he'd had a life to catch him. He'd had a routine and things were expected of him. One out of place thing had been no big deal. But his situation now? Everything was upended. No more college, no more acquaintances he liked to pretend were friends, and no more house. Hell, at the current rate of things, he'd even have to leave his shitty Hyundai behind. Mrs. Edwards would just love it if he left something like that on her property for her to tow away.

He was going to have to call her, too. Tell her he was breaking his lease and moving out. She'd probably worry, but it wouldn't bother her too much. Always someone else waiting to move in.

On second thought, maybe being left alone with his thoughts was a bad idea. They were kinda depressing.

Even though it was…seven in the morning, according to the clock on his wall, Adam said to hell with it and grabbed some sleeping clothes out his drawers. He felt he deserved to be comfortable all day. He would've just forgone clothes and stuck with his boxers, but he hadn't done that since Samandriel showed up. Again: Obvious reasons.

Once in the bathroom, he locked the door behind him. He placed his clothes on the small cabinet space around the sink, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his cell phone. Flipping it open, he scrolled down to his mother's number and clicked Send. He knew he was going to wake her up, and he hated to do that, but… It was kind of important he talked to her.

She answered after the third ring, voice groggy with sleep, like he knew it would be.

"Hey, sweetie," she mumbled, and Adam could hear the rustle of her pillow against the receiver, "what's wrong?

And that one little sentence, that one question, shattered whatever little grip he had on himself.

His hand tightened on his cell phone as tears burned his eyes and emotion constricted his throat.

What's wrong? Oh, nothing, mom. I just died. No big deal. And the thing that killed me is still out there, and it still wants to kill me. It probably will never stop wanting to kill me. I have to run. I have to drop _everything -_ my hopes and dreams, my life, _you_ \- and _run_. Because, for all my huff and puff, I'm not strong enough. I'm not strong enough to fight what I can't see and what I don't know, and my arrogance will be the death of me. Again. Sorry.

When his lip started to tremble and he heard his mother ask if he was still there was when he finally pulled himself back from the edge. He couldn't topple forward. He wouldn't let himself. He let out a shaky breath and coughed to clear his throat, ignoring the wetness that managed to slip from his eye and down his cheek.

"Yeah," he replied to her question, wondering if she heard that crack in his voice. "Just called to tell you something's come up."

He could hear the frown in her voice as she asked, "What do you mean?"

He wondered if he should beat around the bush. If he should be vague or succinct. Whatever he chose, he knew his mom wasn't going to let this go easily. She'd question, she'd worry, and Adam knew there were no true answers he could give her.

"I gotta move out," he said lifelessly.

"Oh." She was sounding more awake. "Well, that's not too bad. Did something happen to Mrs. Edwards? You told me she had a fall."

"And quit school," he added.

"What?" She deadpanned. "Okay, Adam, what's going on? You've been hounding me for ages about going to school. You have scholarships. I..."

She sighed, "Is it drugs?"

Adam couldn't help the helpless chuckle that burst out of him.

"Why does everyone always think it's drugs?" He grinned sardonically.

"Short of the Apocalypse, I don't know anything else that would have you quit doing something you've planned for years," his mother replied easily.

Adam hummed, simultaneously amused that his mother wasn't that far off and pissed at the irony. It was like his life was one giant joke and he'd only then heard the punch line. One he should have figured out long before.

"It's not drugs," he reassured her.

"Mm-hmm. Who'd you kill?"

"Wow. Your faith in me is astounding," he teased.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" She questioned, but it wasn't an accusation.

"No," he admitted, the seriousness of the situation dampening his spirits again. "You're just going to have to trust me on this one. It's better if I leave here."

"I do trust you," his mother replied, and the sincerity with which she spoke actually surprised him. "I trust that you know what's better for you than I do. I _don't_ trust whatever's keeping your mouth shut."

The corner of Adam's lip twitched with a brief smirk, "That makes two of us."

"Are you coming home?"

"No!"

Adam cringed at the forcefulness behind his denial. He didn't want to tip his mother off that he was in danger, and a prime way to do that was to make it sound like he was protecting her. Which, he was, but... She didn't need to know that.

When there was a long pause at the other end of the line, Adam feared he'd tipped her off after all. He grimaced, waiting for the inevitable questions to begin. Questions he _couldn't_ answer.

"Do you know where you're going?" She asked, a question he hadn't expected.

Much to his relief.

"No," he answered truthfully.

"Go to Sam's."

Adam didn't even think to keep himself from groaning. He drug a hand down his face, wishing he hadn't just expressed to his mom how much he loathed that idea.

"Adam," she began sternly, "he's a lawyer. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, short of murder, he can help you with. And if I'm just worrying over illegal activities for nothing, the least he can do is offer you a spare room. Or the couch."

"I don't even _know_ him," he complained.

"Nonsense. He likes you."

Feeling wasn't... Okay, well, Adam couldn't really say that the feeling wasn't mutual, but he could say that his feelings towards Sam weren't as lovey-dovey as Sam's was towards him.

He'd learned pretty early on in their relationship that Sam saw him as a bright-eyed, eager younger brother that he was nearly tripping over himself to show the ropes to. Or whatever the hell it was called.

Adam? Adam'd felt a little suffocated by the sudden surge of affection towards him from the guy _he didn't know_. And he _still_ felt a little suffocated, sometimes.

Sam was a good guy. Adam liked that Sam was a good guy. He was just extremely intimidated by the unconditional love that radiated off of him like he was a giant fuckin' puppy, or something.

He was afraid that he'd show up on Sam's doorstep to a brilliant grin, and then his face would instantly be shoved into the brick wall that was Sam's chest. His death would come from the crushing hug that followed.

Because Adam didn't know how to tell the guy, 'Please, no.'

In defeat, Adam bowed his head and hit it lightly against the wall. Well, other than his mom's, he really couldn't think of anywhere else to go. And she _was_ right about the lawyer thing _and_ the Sam liking him thing. His brother probably wouldn't think twice about why he'd show up out of the blue. Might take the gesture to mean that Adam was finally ready to join the fam'. Ugh.

"Fine," he groused. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good," she chirped. At least one of them was in a better mood. "I'll call him and tell him you're coming."

" _Mom!_ "

"I'm doing it," she said, entirely too smug. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Okay, well, when I don't show up."

"You'll only have yourself to blame. I'm sure you can imagine the crestfallen look on his face when you don't."

Adam grimaced. He could, unfortunately. It was a tad depressing. Actually, it was a lot depressing. God, but why did that guilt trip work? More ugh.

"Well, with that taken care of," she continued, "I'm guessing this is where you hang up? Since I'm pretty sure you're still not going to tell me what you're dealing with."

"Yeah," he agreed sullenly. "I was just about to take a shower, anyway."

His mother sighed, "Alright. Call me when you get to Sam's. Talk to you later, sweetie. Love you."

"Love you, too, mom."

She hung up first, and Adam listened to the silence coming from his cell phone with a small frown on his face.

She'd said 'talk to you later.' Not good-bye. And Adam didn't know what to do with that.

Did he dare hope it _wasn't_ a good-bye?

Because, if he did, there'd be no turning back. He'd be running _to_ something instead of _from_ something. He'd be running back to her, and his life, even if he took so many twisting paths along the road, and took so long, that he forgot who he was. All of his efforts would simply be because he didn't want to let her down.

Her. Kate Milligan. The woman who sacrificed so much for him, even when his deadbeat of a father had abandoned her.

It's not easy being a single mother.

And didn't she deserve to talk to him later? To see him again? To see him put to use everything she ever taught him?

Goddammit, but she did, Adam thought. She deserved more. And he _would_ run. It may not be to Sam's, as she hoped, and he might never live his dream, as she hoped, but he'd fucking run if it meant she didn't have to bury a child. He'd be damned if he put her through that.

He flipped his phone shut and placed it on the bathroom sink, ignoring his reflection in the mirror.

He had a goal now. He'd given himself a goal. All he had to do was make sure he kept pursuing it. It would keep him from cracking again, keep him from becoming so overwhelmed that he stumbled and fate would catch up to him. He was giving himself another crutch, and he would use it.

With a steadying breath, nerves calming, Adam began to get ready for his shower. He'd take a shower, it'd help him relax, and then he'd put on his pjs and work on conveniently ignoring how he was going to have to visit his teachers tomorrow only to be seen as a complete and utter failure.

Lord willing, of course, and - oh! - how that thought burned Adam.

He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing it haphazardly to the floor. He paused when he looked down to unbutton his pants.

"What the fuck?" He asked his stomach.

Last time he'd checked, there most certainly had not been a red handprint just below his sternum. He gestured to it, once again wondering just what the fuck it thought it was doing there. He had enough crazy shit going on right now, he didn't need another thing.

He poked at the offending mark and then cringed at the sensation it produced. Sunburn. That's what it felt like. A really bad sunburn. One that only got pissed off when he poked it because, before then, he'd felt nothing. Well, then.

And there was only one person in the house that could explain why this handprint was where it was, and he was most likely the source of it, too.

"Samandriel!" Adam shouted, storming out of the bathroom with intent.

The angel had heard him, hard not to, and appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a mix of confusion and panic clearly written on his face.

Adam remained where he was at the top of the stairs, glaring down at the other, and pointed at the handprint.

"Explain," he commanded.

Samandriel's eyes had already flickered to the burn, and he'd instantly relaxed, but at Adam's tone he cringed. He fidgeted, looking at the floor as he wrung his hands. He sighed and then looked up at Adam. He shrugged.

"It's from where I healed you," he replied. "Or, I was trying to heal you. Raphael... Like Ephraim said, Raphael took care of the rest."

He'd mumbled that last part, his whole body practically drooping, and Adam knew he was ashamed that he hadn't been able to do it all himself. But, they'd already discussed that and that wasn't the problem at hand now.

Adam nodded his head slowly, folding his arms across his chest, "That's not explaining why I'm branded. I'd think healing me wouldn't, y'know, leave a mark?"

"Raphael's power is far greater than mine. Greater than you can imagine, as cliché as you think that sounds. When ze healed us, _my_ Grace must have surged and..." He trailed off and sheepishly motioned towards Adam.

"Uh-huh."

"I can remove it, if you want."

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be nice."

Samandriel fidgeted again, nodded once, and began to walk up the stairs to him.

Adam stepped back to give him room on the landing. He dropped his arms to his sides, allowing Samandriel to do whatever the hell it was he needed to do, and watched the angel.

Samandriel wouldn't look at him. Not at his face, anyway. He kept his eyes trained on the handprint. The hand that reached towards Adam hesitated for a moment before the angel finally let it rest, perfectly, over the mark.

Nothing happened at first, and Adam had half a mind to quip about how that wasn't so hard, now was it? He didn't understand why Samandriel was being so awkward about the whole thing. It was one thing to be upset because he'd accidentally branded Adam in the first place, Adam knew that was what was bothering him, but since an answer to get rid of the 'mistake' was easily found, why still be worked up over it? Once again, Adam wanted to tell the guy to lighten up a bit. It's all cool.

And then there was heat. Heat and the tightening of flesh and muscle, and Adam quickly found himself hissing in discomfort as he doubled over a little, grabbing onto Samandriel's shoulder with his left hand. Samandriel didn't even twitch at the sudden weight pressed down on him.

Then the heat was gone. His stomach relaxed.

Adam let out a shaky breath and stood up, dropping his hand from Samandriel. Likewise, Samandriel removed his hand from Adam's abdomen.

"Ow," Adam whined.

"Sorry," Samandriel muttered, still refusing to look at him.

"Don't," Adam held up a finger. "I asked for it, so. Don't with the guilt-tripping."

Finally, those blue eyes hesitatingly darted up to meet his own.

Adam tried to give him a light-hearted smirk, "If that's what it feels like to be touched by an angel, I'm kinda glad I was out of it last time."

Samandriel frowned slightly, distaste at Adam's joke clear. He hadn't just been out of it, he'd been dead, and Samandriel probably didn't like being reminded about that. Most likely for the same reason Adam didn't like remembering the sight of Samandriel being ripped apart by thin air.

Adam grimaced.

"Yeah, that was kinda a bad joke, huh?"

Samandriel huffed through his nose, "You wouldn't be you if you didn't shove your foot in your mouth at least once a day."

Adam grinned at that. Now that _was_ a good joke. Light-hearted with a crack of disapproval and just a twinge of tired affection. That lazy, easy camaraderie Adam feared they'd lose in the bullshit that currently surrounded and stressed them. He, of course, hadn't helped make things easier.

His grin faded.

"I'm sorry I took my frustration out on you," he mumbled sincerely.

Samandriel was silent for a moment, seemingly searching Adam for something, and then shrugged his shoulders.

It was such an easy dismissal, but it left Adam wondering if he'd truly been forgiven or not. He frowned.

"Uh. Right." He motioned back towards the bathroom with a nod, "I'm just gonna go take my shower now... Like I've been meaning to do for, like, the past ten minutes..."

Samandriel blinked. He waited. And, when Adam still hadn't moved, he must have assumed he was meant to nod his understanding, for that's what he did. Then he turned and began to walk back down the stairs.

Adam opened his mouth. He closed it. He wondered why the hell he'd opened it in the first place, as he stared at the wall across from him. There were no tangible thoughts in his head, after all. It was all one swirling mess again.

 _Again_.

Funny how the only time he seemed to find some semblance of peace was when talking to the people he loved. A nice distraction.

A Band-Aid on a leak of a dam.

He sighed and cast his gaze to the ceiling.

"So how long does _this_ last, huh?" He muttered, mostly to himself.


End file.
